


VAGRANTS: The girl, the rain and the city

by Sterling92



Series: Vagrants [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alcohol, Explicit Language, Female Protagonist, Horror, Mercenaries, Mystery, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Plot, Swordfighting, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-11 23:00:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29250345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sterling92/pseuds/Sterling92
Summary: A carefree, sassy girl of unusual abilities spends her days working profitably as a mercenary in Lilium City. However, her life is about to change dramatically...What trials await her? And when she finally reaches the end of her journey, will she still be the same person?
Series: Vagrants [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2149785
Kudos: 3





	1. The Girl

**Author's Note:**

> A big and sincere apology for my English and an even bigger and sincere thank you to my friends, who helped and supported me!  
> Thank you Iuri, Fefe and Mirko!  
> This story is a passionate love letter to several videogames that shaped my childhood! These characters and their world have been living rent-free in my battered head for the longest time, and finally their personal trials and terrible burdens made it to paper!

VAGRANTS: The girl, the rain and the city

Written by M.C/Sterling92.

_O weary vagrant,_

_What if I told you that not even the city with her lights,_

_her sparkling raindrops,_

_Or, yes, even the very stars,_

_Are not enough to chase away the cruelest night?_

_There are things that not even daylight can hope to reveal,_

_Matters most inhuman that lurks in daytime shadows,_

_And at night, those things come to be one with darkness_

_in a gradual crescendo of gentle melancholy and madness,_

_and the dreadful creatures that dwell within rejoice in their newfound freedom._

_O weary vagrant,_

_What if I told you that no one can uncover the curtain between realities,_

_and perceive things as they were?_

_As they should have remained._

_Nevertheless, that someone exists, and she is a girl._

_And her name is..._

***

Chapter 1: The girl

“Lenore Sterling, you’re dead meat.”

Alexander thundered confidently, challenging Lenore with his ardent gaze halfway across the bridge.

His prey stopped on the spot and turned to stare at him with her silver eyes in a bored manner, casually slipping her hands into the ample pockets of her grayish overcoat.

Lenore took a moment to admire the man's confidence and smiled at him as if he were an old friend she hadn't attended in a long time, and not a hitman on her trail.

“Again? You don’t know how to deal with women, Red Devil.”

Alexander laughed, stroking his wild mahogany mustache. This wasn't the first time he'd gone after Lenore. The man eventually lost count of his attempts on her life, but that wasn't a problem for the infamous Red Devil himself.

He wasn't going to give up, no matter what. Alexander Donnell was tenacious; he had made a name for himself in the underworld, after all. He gently lifted his dark-glazed nose stringers just enough to reveal his confidence-laden blue eyes.

“Oh Sterlie, but I have a memorable date planned just for you tonight.”

Alexander viciously snapped his fingers, and at his signal broad shadows assumed their places silently at either end of the bridge, emerging from back alleys and abandoned buildings.

Thirty heavily armed gangsters, some with ordinary pistols, others with baseball bats, others still with long knives. They looked like something straight out of an old black-and-white mafia movie.

“Maybe this comes closer to your idea of a romantic evening?” The man asked, smiling and pointing one by one at the newcomers with overwhelming triumph. “You always manage to pull it off; I don't know how, but whatever. I didn't bring flowers for our final date, but I guarantee I'll leave a magnificent bouquet of fragrant roses on your shallow grave. Ready to die, Sterlie?”

The air was heavy. Alexander stretched slightly, uncomfortable with the tension building within. He tried looking bigger in his very long and equally heavy red leather coat, but his lacking portly constitution didn’t help. Despite the relentless rain he could feel the nervous sweat beading on his forehead and fervently hoped his thugs wouldn't notice his anxiety.

“Did you mumble something, Red Devil?” Lenore playfully pretended to suppress a yawn. “I didn't get much sleep and I need a shower. Can we cut this short?”

“You bastard!” yowled the man, staring at her with hatred and astonishment. “What is wrong with you? Are you crazy?” Either way, Alexander had enough of her attitude. “Arrogant bitch!”

“Chill Red Devil, maybe you'll have a stroke or something, at your age who knows...”

“Die!” Alexander pulled the trigger laughing like a madman, and the thirty at his back and call did the same.

Hundreds of bullets exploded toward the girl, producing a cloud of dust that engulfed the heart of the bridge.

The guns stopped seconds later as the Red Devil raised his hand.

He snapped his lips, and his men lowered their weapons at his nod.

“Maybe this shower gave you a wake-up call, Sterlie.”

Lenore emerged from the dust, dusting her overcoat as if nothing had happened, perfectly unharmed despite the goons' show of force.

“Didn't I ask you to make it quick?”

Alexander was blinded by rage and inhaled at the top of his lungs, preparing to scream at his goons to shoot again and again for as long as it would take.

Suddenly, he heard the sound of empty guns falling to the ground.

One by one, as they disarmed themselves without shame, his men stepped back, visibly shaken.

Some were already deserting, scurrying away without looking back, eager to put as much distance as possible between their person and the silver-eyed girl.

“What the hell? Do your job! Get back here!” Alexander shrieked.

“Like hell! I'm not dying here!” Shouted someone in response in the distance.

“I'm paying you a fortune, you traitorous bastards! What's your brain telling you?”

Lenore sprinted toward the nearest hitman and placed a fist in his face, knocking him out. While a colleague assisted the poor man up the girl avoided a baseball bat swing by slipping behind her attacker. There was a flash of light, and half of the bat flew into the air.

Alexander wrapped his sausage-like fingers around the gun that hung from his considerable waist. No one could dodge or survive that much lead, it was impossible. So why were his men lying on the ground in pain? Why was the girl dancing among his goons, sword at hand and unharmed? He clutched his weapon tightly in desperation and rage.

Lenore stood at the far end of the bridge, near the bodies of more than half of his men.

Alexander's remaining men cautiously approached the cloud of dust, wary of possible friendly fire.

But the Red Devil had no such problems or particular affection for his expendable lackeys.

“I won't lose this time, witch!”

He aimed into the fray and pulled the trigger without hesitation. Her firearm roared, and one of her men collapsed to the ground in pain.

“Drop dead!” Alexander took aim again before firing, again and again. Sweat and rain blurred his vision, but the Red Devil didn't care. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a silvery reflection dancing toward him.

 _There she is. It's done_. He thought with satisfaction. _You're dead meat, Sterlie._

Alexander fired repeatedly before lifting his glasses again and examined the length of the bridge with increasing anxiety.

“Are you down there in hell yet?”

There was no answer, only the sounds of the rain and the city.

Thirty bodies lay on the ground, soaked in blood and rain, but Alexander could not detect his prey. He moved slowly through the bodies, looking for Lenore.

He was certain he had hit her. More than sure at that distance. He was certain of it. All he had to accomplish was find the girl's body, hand it over, cash in, and go home.

Alexander could mentally see himself back home, sitting comfortably on his prized sofa in front of the television, sipping a hot drink, a stack of brand-new lilies at his side, when something abruptly transported him back to the bridge, ruining his personal dream.

“How the everlasting blasted hell?!” Alexander experienced a twinge in his stomach. His mouth opened and closed without a sound several times like that of a fish as he tried making sense of Lenore's figure, unharmed and standing before him.

“Are you ok Red Devil? Do you need a hand?” Lenore gently ran a hand through her long raven hair, laden with rainwater. “Should we call an ambulance?”

_Not a scratch on her! Not a single one! How?!_

Her overcoat was a different story, though. The garment was covered in a considerable number of holes and cuts, and swayed vaguely as Lenore pointed at him with her sword.

“Monster!” Alexander shouted furiously with terrible rage at the top of his lungs.

Lenore smiled politely. “It's not my fault you decided to waste your bullets like this.”

“Shut up!” Alexander growled at her, brandishing his gun in her direction. “I have all the bullets I require, right here, right now!”

Lenore lowered her sword calmly, further infuriating the man.

“Good for you. You're quite the professional. Do they pay you properly?”

The seething anger pushed Alexander over the edge. The man tightened his pudgy finger around the trigger as he trembled terribly in uncontrollable anger as if he would explode at any moment.

“You'll be sleeping with the fishes tonight, little girl. If you have any last words, now is the time.”

“Yes, yes, yes, I'm so tired of hearing you say that,” Lenore said. “You said it the other eighteen times, too. Or twenty. Do you happen to count them, by chance? Cause I don’t really-”

“Shut up!” Alexander pulled the trigger angrily. The two were so close not even a blind man could miss; it was mathematically impossible to miss. Alexander stared gleefully at the bullet approaching the girl's chest, ready to claim her life at any moment.

“I won!”

Lenore giggled. “No, you don’t.”

Alexander stared at her, open-mouthed. Somehow, the girl was unharmed. She placed the tip of her shining sword against the man's throat playfully.

_What? How is this possible?_

Alexander was sure of it; the bullet had hit her, she was dead, gone, finished.

There was no logical explanation, or at least Alexander couldn't find a reasonable one.

“Looks like I win again,” the girl hummed, singing triumphantly a short victorious fanfare as she sheathed the weapon. “That was fun though, try again, maybe you'll get lucky one day.” Lenore reached out and seized the man's smoking gun for herself, while Alexander was still too puzzled to stop her. “Nice, but I'm afraid it's a knock-off, you know? A real Laspina would bear the mark more or less around here.” the girl drew a line on the weapon’s length, admiring the details as she handled it like a simple kitchen utensil. “Oh well come on, I'll take it. See you around, Red Devil!”

“You... You're not human!”

“I'll take that as a genuine compliment, okay?”

Lenore turned and started to walk away, leaving Alexander staring at her, speechless, shaking and amazed. She turned once she approached the end of the bridge.

“Ah yes, one thing,” Lenore slipped off her ragged overcoat and flung it to Alexander, concealing his face, “You owe me a new one. Good night, Red Devil!”

The man stared at the coat blankly and opened his mouth to mumble something, but could not secure the words.

Defeated, he walked uncertainly away from the bridge, making sure to deliver an angry kick to an innocent rubbish can as he walked away from yet another defeat.

He shuffled along the road in the pouring rain with bitterness. The weather did not seem to be improving at all, and Alexander sneezed as he wandered aimlessly.

“Great, maybe I’ll catch a cold too!”

Alexander pursued a road leading effectively out of town. Disappearing for a while didn't seem like a terrible idea, after all. He pulled an unexpectedly fine silk handkerchief out of his red coat and blew his nose noisily. Perhaps it was the cold rain, or perhaps his fear of Lenore, or of his most recent failure - either way, Alexander shivered.

Ironically, Alexander clutched at the remains of the girl's overcoat in search of protection from the elements, with little result. In anger, he kicked an old telephone box, before sighing and stopping to look at it wistfully.

You and I both are ruins from another time, he thought, stroking the half-ruined booth.

The man set his back against the phone box, letting himself slowly fall to the ground before crossed his legs and resting his chin on his hand.

“Oh hell,” he mused to himself. “Ever since Lenore's been around, I can't seem to get anything right.”

All his men were dead, his funds were even deader, and he'd failed once too often.

“My reputation has gone down the drain, so much for legendary the Red Devil, huh?”

Lenore had miraculously appeared out of nowhere about a year ago, maybe two, ruining Lilium City’s respectable underworld. And Alexander wasn't the sole gangster tending to his wounds.

Local drug dealers, gun runners, organ dealers, pimps, illegal surgeons, corrupt cops...

Anyone who worked for the mob and the like had found themselves magically ruined in no time. Lenore had soundly rejected their practical proposals for peace or constructive engagement. A first, since any other mercenary would have seized the money without question and thanked them all while at it. But not that girl, no.

She did whatever she desired when and how she wanted, defying the local powers. The opposing gangs disappeared into thin air one after another, and with each victory Lenore's reputation grew by leaps and bounds. Worse still, it kickstarted a peculiar fashion of sorts. Other mercenaries cut ties with the underworld, launching an independent business. And all of this ruined the reputation of people like Alexander, leading men who had come to power the old-fashioned way.

Lenore was severely threatening his way of life.

And so, Alexander had decided to do something about that girl, he decided to take matters into his own hands, to stop the girl. But he had failed, again and again, scoring an impressive series of defeats.

And there would be no next time, no last attempt. Alexander knew that well enough. He had used up the honeyed praise and brilliant promises of redemption to find support for that night's attempt, weaving a meticulous plan down to the last detail, convincing the old bosses to supply him with money, men and weapons for his ambush. This aggressive move had inevitably left the Red Devil with no friends, no critical resources and nowhere to return to. This was not a defeat a man could easily recover from. Much less a proud man like him.

He was renowned for getting back up every time he went down, but not this time.

“Damn it. I'm done, finished.”

Alexander stared at advertising sign on the other side of the road. The tropical sights masterfully displayed thereon seemed to almost call to him, and the man considered such location for his premature retirement. As he walked closer to the promising sign, Alexander promptly began outlining his course of action: in an hour or less he could be on an airplane off to somewhere warm and welcoming, far and away from Lenore.

All around him the streetlamps frantically began to flicker in unison, and as Alexander made a twirl to survey his immediate surroundings, he hard it: A dreadful, unknown sound. Something strange and alien, wet and disgusting, a foul noise he had never heard before in all of his life.

Alexander swiftly brought his hand to his leathery holster, only to find it empty as Lenore had confiscated his weapon earlier. _Damn it! Curse you, Lenore!_

The ominous sound was getting closer and closer. Alexander's eyes darted around the place, but the alley was most definitely empty. He experienced fear grip him from head to toe, as in panic he retrieved his emergency knife from a boot as fast as he could.

Where did they come from? Alexander looked around like a frightened animal, swinging his cutting blade left and right, trying to figure out who or what was producing such terrifying sound that filled the frigid night. Could it be that news of his failure had already reached one of his benefactors? Or perhaps some rival who undoubtedly wanted to promptly take advantage of his rare moment of personal weakness to rise instantly in ranks?

Something was terribly amiss, it was as if the world was radically transforming around him, a dreamlike and terrifying experience. Alexander's legitimate fear invariably became something primal, his mind incapable of coherent thought.

The gun, his trusty knife, or any other kind of possible weapon for that matter, would make no difference. The unmistakable sound was now all around him, but nevertheless the man couldn't see anything.

Suddenly, Alexander heard footsteps behind him and turned around, genuinely trying to artfully conceal his evident anxiety and set a tone.

Another distinctive sound instantly broke his brief facade of courage, a cruel laugh. For a breathless instant it superseded the otherworldly sound and chilled the blood in his veins.

“Who's there? Do you know who I am? I’m associated with the Grissom Gang, you know?” He was strangely relieved by the possibility that he was not alone. Perhaps it was Lenore who was enjoying tormenting him. For all he knew it was a joke, maybe the girl was simply having fun at his expense. Maybe she was primed to jump on him from who knows where…

And then it came out of nowhere: Incredible, raw and unexpected, unbearable pain.

Slowly, his vision faded. He experienced something ruthlessly tearing at his flesh. Alexander tried to scream for help, but no one would hear him, no one would rescue him.

He tried in vain to strike blindly with his knife, but nothing worked anymore.

Alexander screamed silently and forcibly disappeared into the dark as someone laughed mockingly with perverse pleasure at his final performance.

Nothing remained, save for a ragged patch of Lenore’s tattered coat and pouring rain.

A solitary figure emerged triumphantly from the continuous rain: A charming girl with flowy teal hair, aquamarine-like eyes and a long blue dress with minor golden accents. Her gilded accessories and the half belt pearls adorning her waist glimmered in the unsteady light of the streetlamps.

Humming a fanfare eerily similar to the one intoned by Lenore earlier, the girl marched barefoot up to the ragged piece of leather and collected it with her right hand, clad in a golden gauntlet of sort. As she scrupulously observed the patch within her claws, a sinister smile gradually grew on her otherwise exquisite face.

_I found you._

***

Despite the relentless rain Lenore walked quietly down the street, illuminated by the faint light of spent street lamps. She didn't particularly like going out during the day, and the encounter with Alexander and his armed thugs had galvanized her. She made her way, quickening her pace slightly, to a shabby workshop in the city's slums. Lenore walked around the building and repeatedly pounded her fist insistently on a back door.

“Old Runners are you there? Or have you finally kicked the bucket? “

A few minutes later a dull thud followed by a curse, the battered door opened.

“You're an annoying little brat; you know that, don't you?” Mirek Runners motioned for her to enter. The elder Runners was an imposing muscular figure, despite his advanced age, and his long white beard softened the hard features of his tired face.

Lenore had never been able to determine Old Man Runners' age, nor had she dared to ask, and she reasonably supposed no one in town knew the exact figures. To the girl he subtly reminded her in every possible way of a centuries-old oak tree.

“You have sense of time, eh?”

The disordered room was dark, narrow, windowless, and lit exclusively and poorly by a simple old dying lamp with a soft, warm light. The floor was hidden from view by piles of newspapers and boxes.

Runners returned to his work table, gestured for Lenore to approach with a nod of his chin, and continued to operate with unexpected speed for a person of his age on an old pocket watch with a certain degree of boredom.

“I had hopes for a peaceful night.”

His skills as a gunsmith and blacksmith were undoubtedly known and unrivaled. Those in the trade could tell, though the years had worn him down and he now spent his days fixing insignificant trinkets, Runners developed works of art rather than weapons, objects that sometimes seemed to glow on their own. Commissioning work from him was something similar to a rite of passage in the business, though the old man was quite selective with his buyers.

A number of unsavory people had knocked on his door seeking his services, but none had ever been foolish enough to push him. The elder had his circle of friends to support him, and his mighty physique was frequently more than enough to deter difficult customers.

“You're the only one who can call me an old man and walk away on,” grunted the elderly blacksmith, casually darting a grim gaze in the girl's generic direction as he continued operating on the clock. “Don't you have an education? I wonder what your parents are like.”

“I wonder, too.”

The girl had no memories of her family, nor was she sure she had one, but it had never bothered her. Lenore undoubtedly lived by the day and looked to the future without looking back.

“Why don't you tell me what you're doing here before I wash your mouth with a big ol' piece of soap?”

With an embarrassed look Lenore gently placed her glittering sword, or rather, the two halves of what used to be her sword, on the table in front of Runners.

“It broke, can I have a new one?”

“Again? How many swords have you broken this month alone?”

The man bore a hand to his face, trying to conceal his astonishment and exasperation as he pushed aside the watch and its components with impatience.

“I don't know, it's not like I list down everything I break.”

“I'm not your personal blacksmith,” objected Runners as he gripped the used blade, examining the break point with dismay through a magnifying glass, handling the remains of the sword with the same care as a father cradling his firstborn son.

“Maybe you can just fix it?”

Runners looked at Lenore from over her large bifocal lenses with gentle resignation as he searched fruitlessly for words.

“Fix it she says... Yes. But we both know it would break again anyway. It's clearly not meant for you. It was a magnificent and elegant weapon, not a kitchen knife to be waved around wildly like some kind of drunken idiot...”

Lenore massaged the back of her head and looked elsewhere, blushing violently.

“There you go talking about kitchen knives, magnificent and elegant weapons and all that stuff.... Remember that gun you gave me? Well yeah, that's gone too.”

By now those conversations were part of his daily life, but Runners nevertheless brought his hands to his temples with a mixture of sadness, weariness, and wild amazement.

“You want me dead, girl! I put time and energy into that gun. How did you even break it?! Never mind, I don't want to know.”

He was constantly upgrading Lenore's personal weapons, but whether it was a firearm or a stabbing weapon the girl would inevitably end up destroying them. It was hard to recover suitable materials that could withstand that kind of stress.

“You know, most normal people can't pull the trigger all those times in one second. Or wantonly break all those swords.”

“Yeah I know. That's why I only need you, _old_ _man_ Runners.” Lenore ceremoniously presented before him the Laspina she'd borrowed from Alexander.

“Can you do anything with this? A kind gift from the Red Devil himself for our latest date.”

“You're a pain in the ass,” Runners muttered fiercely, as he gripped the weapon. “Damn you.”

With his eyes he was already mentally reconfiguring the gun for superior performance. Runners had been regularly dealing with Lenore ever since she arrived, or rather appeared, in town, and he knew how to please her.

Routine work seemed to drain him of any remaining energy, yet something radically changed in the old blacksmith when he worked for her. His eyes shone through the deep wrinkles under his bushy eyebrows and his limbs worked up all the energy of youth, pushing his battered bones to the limit. He was a dedicated blacksmith who had surrendered his soul to his work, which he seemed to love more than anything else in the world.

“Bootleg junk… I'll have to reconstruct it from scratch,” he said aiming it at a random spot in the room with the weapon. “Considering the cost of the critical parts though, I don't know how much sense it'd make. Just forget about it.” Time and money were aggravating factors that unfortunately led to several possible weapons being trashed instead of improved, the elderly man was pragmatic in his creative work.

“Don't say that! Come on, old man. A mercenary without a cool gun wouldn't look professional. It's part of the character!”

“Who's filling your head with this bullshit? Since when does anyone care if a mercenary has a gun, a sword or a coat?” Puffed Runners, dropping the gun in a sea of metal pieces in his desk drawer. “Know that I need the time, and I want half the money up front, to at least pay for the materials. You up for it girl?”

“Sure. No problem for me!” Lenore smiled like a child in front of a huge ice.

Runners sighed, defeated. It was impossible to say no to that smile, despite the inhuman and sometimes impossible jobs she asked of him. By now he considered the girl part of the family, even if he would never admit it openly.

The girl winked at him. “Anyway, by tomorrow I'll secure a lucrative contract, so you don't have to worry about the money.”

“Ah-ha, sure, can't wait, great.”

Lenore responded with a deep grimace that gradually turned into a smile.

“Oh come on! Have some confidence for once. That pout makes you look even older-”

“What?!” Runners forcibly dragged Lenore out of the room, pulling her forcefully by one ear as the girl protested, writhing in pain. “Get out! Get out before I regret working for you, damn it.”

Once alone, he turned back to the table and the raw pieces there abandoned in bulk.

He had so much work to finish, and so little time…

_I’m… So tired._

Runners stared at the framed portrait above his messy work table. It faithfully depicted a girl with long ebony hair, green eyes, and a big, reassuring smile.

Lenore reminded him so much of that innocent little girl.

***

Lenore allowed herself a moment to admire the familiar sign in the distinctive shape of a kingly crown and in that instant the door opened with considerable force.

A hurried man crossed the threshold so quickly that he did not notice the girl and ran into her. They both fell to the ground.

The man, who had a full blond beard and was wearing a long dark leather coat, promptly began to quickly pick up several wallets from the ground.

“Look where you're going... Oh good evening Lenore dear! How are you?”

Lenore sighed with a smile as she stood back up and instinctively checked her pockets.

“I'm all right. Big game hunting tonight, Malzel?”

Old Malzel had been an excellent mercenary in his day, but unfortunately advanced age had forced him into retirement. Now the man survived by cleaning out the pub's most boozy customers.

“One does what one can. Have a nice evening dear!”

Lenore stared at him slipping away down an alleyway, no doubt directed to the nearest pawn shop, before making her entrance.

The “Yellow King” was undoubtedly not the most magnificent pub in town, and it certainly wasn't for the faint of heart or intelligent people with remotely good taste. Hidden away in its dark alleyway, Hastur kept the place running with low prices and miracles. Stories had it that Hastur was a disgraced nobleman, a retired mercenary, or even both.

No one knew much about him, and no one cared to know more as long as he continued not diluting his drinks with tap water.

It wasn't uncommon to see an unaccustomed customer walk in only to flee shortly after. Usually, they were scared off by a fight, a gunshot or something worse. And decent people, something most rare given the pub's usual clientele, wisely staggered out of the place as the sun disappeared over the horizon.

Hastur tenderly wiped the counter with an elegant cloth, sporting his most professional expression and surveying the area with the corner of his eye — the good one, given the hideous scar running along his left — to take note of customers in need. With his well-trimmed blond mustache, Hastur gave the impression of an ancient gentleman that felt out of place in that particular environment.

Like its master, the Yellow King had a vaguely aristocratic appearance, although much more neglected. Lenore crossed the tables casually returning the affectionate greetings of most and took her place at the counter between two customers.

“Word gets around fast, Lenore; I heard Alexander tried to go straight for the big jackpot again.” Wallace took a bite of his slice of pizza. Despite a few lines of gray in his short black hair, he wore his years well. He was well built, tall and muscular.

“How many men? Some say forty or fifty.” Yosh, on the other hand, was young, even younger than Lenore, however he had that way of doing things that gave him a certain aura of professionalism. His brown hair was dotted with several unruly wisps.

“Word gets around huh?” Lenore shrugged. “Thirty anyway. I guess?”

Wallace cursed, pounded his fist on the counter, and shortly thereafter huffily tossed a few whitish bills in Yosh's direction. The boy quickly slipped them into his pocket with a beaming smile.

“I didn't think you were attracted to profitless gunfights,” sneered Wallace.

“I was bored, I didn't know how to pass the time and Alexander helped.” Lenore frowned,” He ruined my favorite coat.”

“Is that why you changed your style? It doesn't suit you one bit.” Wallace laughed again, before Yosh elbowed him to shut him up.

“Being the gentleman that he is, Mr. Red Devil will see to it that I get another one.” In her simple white leotard Lenore felt less professional and somehow more vulnerable. “Anyway, I wanted to talk to you about something, you see...” Lenore drew her stool closer to Wallace's in a conspiratorial manner as Yosh stood up quickly and whistled away, tightening his grip on the money.

“If it's money, the answer is no. Absolutely no. Categorically no.”

“But I haven't said anything yet!”

“You don't need to open your trap. Haven't I already loaned you a small fortune? How come you don't make enough on your own? You're pretty good, girl.” Wallace sipped his mug of artisanal beer with peculiar satisfaction. That beer was more bitter than death itself and blacker than the darkest night, and Wallace had become something of a local legend for being the only person brave enough to knock down several rounds of Hastur's mighty pride.

Lenore tilted her head. “Come on, I know you're saving money. How come by the way? You're not retiring, are you?”

Wallace sighed wistfully and tossed gently more white bills onto the counter. “I have family, what do you think? Here, leave at least enough to pay the bill.”

Lenore moved swiftly and pounced on the money like a predatory bird presented with an easy prey.

“I owe you man! I'll pay you back soon, I solemnly promise.”

“Sure,” Wallace sighed resignedly. “When it accommodates you little princess, as always.” He stood up immediately after downing the last bite of pizza.

“I heard Lawrence will be here tomorrow night, with good work. Come around. Don't forget.”

“Chill, I won't miss a date with my favourite little gremlin middleman.”

Wallace walked out, sketching a goodbye as Lenore casually waved one hand and stared with a dreamy expression at the white bills in the other.


	2. Mercenary life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Always in need of money, Lenore is promptly presented by her trusty middleman a most lucrative job.

Chapter 2: Mercenary life

The word mercenary was traditionally linked to a certain type of character in the collective imagination of the citizens of Lilium City. In most cases everyone expected a generic, violent, tattoo-covered hulking man, but quite a few deviated completely from that stereotype. All the more so now that the lucrative profession had become a fad.

However, it was also true mercenaries did not enjoy particular respect in the city still.

To the ordinary people they were still essentially unscrupulous criminals, vagrant rebels in search of easy money, while the local mafia often dismissed them as unreliable pawns, using them only from behind the shadows when it was necessary. The average mercenary was content with any contract, after all, being picky was an impossible luxury in that field of expertise.

But things had changed since Lenore had entered the scene.

Their reputation was rapidly changing, as was the way they did business. The best ones could even be picky now, carefully choosing the contracts that best matched their personal style. Lenore had set herself apart from her “distinguished colleagues.” The girl had not bothered to seek the favor of the local underworld, very simply accepted the contracts that genuinely interested her and typically completed them as she pleased. Her independent attitude didn't appeal to many, but Lenore was quick to efficiently handle official complaints once teased. Since her first appearance in town, Lenore had single-handedly disposed of several prominent mob families and filled more than a few hospital beds with a considerable number of vicious killers meant to end her career.

Lenore's success had spurred a number of her colleagues to establish a guild of sort at the Yellow King, to Hastur's joy. Each night they met in search of work and to compare wallets, scars, weapons, and their egos.

“Yo morons! I've got a two hundred lily job. Anyone interested, get your sorry ass over here!”

“Who wants to beat the crap out of some losers? The only requirement is being able to hold a gun or a knife!”

“I've got a tough job little ladies, but I'm offering a good two thousand lilies, I warned ya, so don't complain! Come!”

“Malzel I swear on what I hold dearest in the world, stick your filthy hands in my pockets one more time and I will cut them off!”

Potential clients and middlemen were battling it out, fighting with harsh words or fists to seize a mercenary for the night. A high reward equaled fewer words and more fists.

Sometimes brokers hoped for the direct engagement of a specific mercenary instead of advertising the job openly.

In that industry infamous mercenaries rarely looked for work themselves, it was work that usually came to them.

“Business is booming tonight. Never a dull moment.” Hastur was carefully passing his cleanest cloth over the counter. “And yet here I am, penniless. I'm a little jealous.“

Lenore was perched at the counter, beaming in her new coat.

“I wonder why, your gracious majesty,” Lenore joked, trying not to think about how much the garment had cost her. Alexander hadn't shown up at Jess's tailor shop, and Lenore had ultimately decided to promptly settle the matter with her own wallet, much to the delight of the little reddish-haired owner. “Learn to save some money.” She kept downing one spoonful of ice cream after another, hoping futilely the cold cream would at least partially dampen the terrible taste of Hastur's incredibly cheap out-of-season fruit.

“Don't you think you're a little too grown up for kids' desserts?”

Lenore brought another generous spoonful of dessert to her mouth. “Mind your own business. I love it.”

“Always the same kind of ice cream huh.” A man approached Lenore. “I'll have what she's having sire, but double.”

Lawrence Savino was the best informant in the city. A burly but impossibly short man, Lawrence had learned his stature could be an asset in his business, as bullets often barely grazed him, flying over his head, and also it allowed him to go unnoticed as he gathered information in spite of his flamboyant style. His elegant cream-colored hat, under which the informant carefully hid a cruel alopecia that was eating away at what must have once been glorious lock of auburn hair, was paired with a luxurious coat of the same color.

Lawrence smiled amiably as he took his seat with some difficulty and stowed away his dark glasses.

“I have something for you. If you treat me properly, of course.”

Lenore continued enjoying her ice cream without meeting the man's gaze. “Hastur, the gremlin's sundae is on my tab.”

Hastur placed a vast bowl of ice cream on the counter as Lawrence laughed with genuine delight and Lenore sighed.

“Don't choke on it before you land me the job.”

With one hand Lawrence began searching for some papers from his bag, with the other he brought a juicy strawberry to his mouth.

“Speak for yourself, if you keep this up you're going to turn into a pig.”

“Always a gentleman, Law, always.” Lenore nonchalantly snatched the papers from his hand and nearly choked as she downed what was left of her ice cream. “Is this a joke?! Two hundred and fifty thousand lilies!!!? In one night!?”

“You absolute idiot!” Lawrence hissed, looking around with concern. “Don't shout it out like that!” But it was unlikely the rest of the pub could hear Lenore; a two-way conflict that had broken out in a corner had evolved into a full-blown brawl, and at least four men were giving each other a hard time in an impressive knife fight.

“You're not an amateur. Abide by my rules or find a new middleman.“

Lenore shrugged. Lawrence shook his head and continued.

“Not bad right? The pay is incredible, and it will be a fitting test for your skills.”

“Maybe you overestimate me Law. What's the job?”

“The client is a gentleman philanthropist who wants to leave town safely because of some special consideration.”

“...It's not that easy, is it?”

“No, he's a drug-dealing asshole full of money. The pie is big, and everyone wants a piece of it, just so you know.”

Lenore sighed in resignation.

“So, I have to get him out of the country and keep his little friends at bay while they'd like to throw him a goodbye party?” She handed the papers back to Lawrence in a professional manner. “Hastur, can you make me a triple sundae?”

Lawrence pounded his pudgy fists desperately on the counter.

“Come on, what's wrong with you? Aren't you interested?” Lawrence knew Lenore could be terribly moody at times.

The girl took jobs based on her whims and hardly reconsidered her standing after a rejection. Money was rarely a sufficient motive to change her mind, regardless of the numbers. “Think about it. Come on, it's two hundred and fifty thousand lilies!” He repeated the figure several times, slowly. “That's not chump change! Lilies, not nuts!”

“Thanks but no thanks.”

Lenore downed a mouthful of ice cream and listlessly flipped through Lawrence's papers. A blurry photo depicted a familiar face. “Is this the guy I'm sorry? I'm pretty sure I punched him in the face one. Maybe twice. Or even thrice, who cares.”

“You think this is a trap? Baloney. Space balls. Two hundred and fifty thousand lilies, my girl. You can't be so uninterested.”

Lenore rolled her eyes, exasperated.

Someone had clearly already paid a lot of money up front, and the greedy middleman had already promised someone her valuable services without adequately consulting with her. A relatively common scenario for Lawrence.

Actually, the possibility that it was a trap was not a problem at all, Lenore had widely considered the possibility, but the girl merely had a few specific criteria when it came to business: The work had to be interesting or, at least to her taste, something fun and with no unnecessary bloodshed.

And most importantly, she had to naturally feel a certain... something about it, something that even she couldn't properly define. Something this particular contract was lacking altogether.

So, whether or not the contract was a trap, it was irrelevant. This job likely involved killing people. Many people.

“I'm not really excited about it. I'm not feeling it Law.” She sighed.

Lawrence hopped his stool closer to the Lenore's.

“What kind of professional says crap like that? Do it, Lenore. Come on! Come on!” Lawrence didn't have many exceptional talents, but once he was set on something, he became truly formidable.

Lenore shuddered involuntarily knowing she would see the face of the little man in her dreams for weeks, months even, if she turned down that specific contract.

Lawrence was merely performing his job after all, and he was terribly excellent at it, even Lenore had to admit it.

The job of the middleman required proper connections, sure, but it was simple enough: secure a contract, find someone capable of completing it successfully, collect your generous percentage. Rinse and repeat.

“It's all right, Lawrence. I'll convince Lenore for you.”

Lenore turned and looked up. Wallace was there, staring at her behind his dark-glassed glasses, and his arrival had imposed a certain degree of silence in the pub. “No one doubts your skills as a middleman, chill it man. Lenore will accept the job and get it done with flying colors, as always.”

Lenore saw Lawrence's frown change to a triumphant smile in a flash. Lawrence undoubtedly knew Wallace would convince the girl, however, he had to play professionally his part for the sake of both men's appearances.

“Whether Lenore accepts or not, it's not my style to give up without having the last word, Wallace.”

Wallace sighed gently. “I said she will. But...”

“I hear you.” Lawrence winked slyly. “You want a piece of the pie all to yourself. The job is yours, dynamic duo. I have to deliver other contracts, small fry obviously, to some people, I'll be right back dears.”

“Okay, okay, go now and make it quick.” Wallace gently pushed him away with a weary look as Lenore continued to stare at him with growing suspicion, arms crossed in disproval.

“Impeccable timing. You two had a deal, did you?”

“Don't be a bitch. A lucrative contract like that, I would have kept it all to myself, wouldn't I?”

“Right, right, good for you I guess.”

“I'm here for the leftovers anyway, like always. I don't mind.”

Lenore's smile faded instantly.

Many of the other mercenaries looked down on Wallace since he'd been working with her. The bolder ones called him Fido and likened him to a contented dog shamelessly feasting on his mistress' leftovers. Lenore saw nothing wrong in their partnership, but she understood that Wallace had his pride weighing on his shoulders.

“Come on, we both know you don't come here looking for pity, right? Want a bit of my sundae?“

Wallace sighed resignedly and ordered his typical drink, much to Hastur's delight.

“Keep that crap to yourself. Enough whining, what about work?”

“I don't like it and I'm pretty sure it's a trap,” Lenore stared at her spoon before lowering it into the now empty cup and turned back to look at Wallace. “The guy's name is Raspberry, if I remember correctly. I can handle it myself.”

“Albert Raspberry. Lackey of the Corneo family. They don't have much, but they have the right contacts in the narcotics business. Quite a few people will want to party with them. I guess he took something he wasn't supposed to take or saw something he wasn't supposed to see.”

“Probably I beat up some of their people; I guess.”

Petty annoyances, like Alexander.

Usually, Lenore merely forgot about them pretty quickly after taking care of business.

But they didn't forget her as easily, far from it.

And they had a nasty habit of popping up to vex her at the most inopportune times, as the Red Devil had amply demonstrated over and over again. The man was both an incredible source of splendid entertainment and a terrible nuisance.

“So, we protect Raspberry. But where do we take him? What's the escape plan? These documents don't say anything about it.”

“Think of it as an advantage; the fewer people who know what's going on, the better off we'll be. No information leaks.”

Lenore grimaced worriedly. She didn't particularly enjoy unexpected surprises in the middle of a job.

“That satisfactorily explains the two hundred thousand lilies. I'm still unconvinced, Wally.”

“Don't be like that. Law won't offer us work anymore if we make him lose face, no? And besides,” Wallace carefully lowered his gruff voice to a cautious whisper, “there are cars outside. I don't think a no represent a contemplated option.”

Lenore sighed theatrically as she stood up listlessly.

“They're desperate, I'd say it's painfully obvious. Am I that needed? It would be cruel to disappoint them, wouldn't it? Let's accept this blind date, maybe it's the time.”

Lawrence approached the two again and instantly realized his impeccable reputation was positively in the clear. The little man gently removed his distinctive hat and pointed eagerly to the pub's door with a theatrical bow.

“My noble lords, your private carriage awaits outside. Good hunting!”

It was raining hard outside. An ordinary occurrence as of late.

Outside the pub two black cars were waiting for Lenore and Wallace. The girl sighed and headed toward one of the two cars. The roar of an engine ripped through the air just before a motorcycle came to a halt uncomfortably close to Lenore. The driver was a diminutive man, wrapped from head to toe in paramilitary gear, fairly anonymous except for the red bandana and the incredible number of weapons on his person. Lenore stared for a moment at the thick golden lenses of the man's gas mask and promptly gave him a smirk as Wallace cursed at him for his dangerous stunt.

“Dingo. Are you with us tonight, too?”

The man laughed from under his impenetrable mask and dismounted from his trusty jet-black motorcycle.

“Lenore, what a coincidence. They simply hired the second-best mercenary in the area in case you stood them up.”

“Third best, you mean, little guy.” Wallace snarled, staring down at Dingo from above. Not that this was extremely troublesome for him.

“Are you so insecure in life that you have to make jokes about my height to feel accomplished, stretchy?”

The driver grumbled something to voice his impatience, and Lenore assumed her place in the car before her colleagues could continue the exchange. Dingo stared at Wallace before getting back on his motorcycle.

“I don't particularly like that guy.” Wallace sentenced, crossing his mighty arms over his chest.

“He's not bad though, come on.” Lenore waved back at Dingo as he rode past them. “On top of that, he's the reason I can shoot properly, more or less.”

“Hey, I did my part as well on that! Respect your teachers!”

Dingo was undoubtedly living proof of how quirky some of her mercenary colleagues were.

No one knew anything about him, let alone had ever glimpsed his face even from afar. No one.

He was known primarily for two apparent reasons, his rather eccentric fashion sense, and his legendary bad luck.

Even during their lengthy training sessions, Lenore had never been able to observe the man's face.

“Never a dull moment with Dingo, that's for sure.” Wallace exclaimed impulsively, resigning himself to a most eventful night.

The man launched into a lengthy sermon on Dingo's most exotic adventures, pausing from time to time to wait for some kind of reaction from Lenore before firing up again his monologue before the girl had any real chance to contribute to the conversation.

But Lenore made no effort whatsoever to follow Wallace and preferred to devote herself to the cityscape beyond the deep opaque windows of the car.

In spite of the pouring rain, a man in front of an alleyway was shouting something at the top of his voice while moving a reddish sign left and right as if his life dependent on it.

As he passed, the car lifted a considerable wave from a muddy puddle, and it splashed full force on the man. The unfortunate man faced toward the vehicle and began cursing before returning to his job of preaching the end of the world or the likes.

The girl almost didn't register the man with the sign, instead focusing her attention on the alley immediately behind him.

An alley as dark as any, but one that held some importance to Lenore.

Some two or three years earlier Dingo had first encountered her in that very alley.

From what she had been told, she wasn't injured, but she couldn't even string together a meaningful sentence, much less stand up. Dingo had taken care of her as best he could, but although Lenore regained her physical and mental faculties in less than two weeks, she retained no memory of the events that had brought her to that alley and Lilium City. Or any other kind for that matter.

The sole thing she could recall clearly was her name.

Dingo had gone to great lengths, asking around some illegal contacts, contacting friends, paying shady people, but no one knew anything about her.

Naturally, at first Lenore felt depressed, but after some time she had wisely decided that if she had forgotten something, it was probably unimportant.

From her practical point of view after all, if she had to choose, a retrograde amnesia was preferable to an anterograde one, and with this philosophy of life the girl had simply decided she would make a new life in the city rather than chasing the forgotten past.

For all she knew someday it would be the past that would come after her, and if it didn't so much the better for her then. She fondly cherished her life as it was.

The driver circled the city at least twice to make sure he wasn't being followed before finally heading to the meeting point, an old hangar on the edge of town.

Dingo opened the car door and invited her to get out with a deep bow while the girl giggled. Wallace for his part got out almost reluctantly, wondering whether or not he had time for one of his beloved cigars.

The hangar was full of loaded trucks, crates full of standard firearms and people shouting instructions from one side of the building to the other.

The trio expected a lot more people, but their client probably decided to go for quality and discretion rather than big numbers.

Their personal driver escorted them into a small room with a narrow wood table and urged them to wait. As soon as the man carefully closed the door behind him, someone else entered the private room in his place.

A slender old man with a simple leather briefcase and a gray pinstripe suit that seemed too big for him.

Lenore stared at him suspiciously: He wasn't Raspberry. She was sure of it.

“Good evening gentlemen and...Miss.” The man nodded a bow and approached the table. “You must be Mr. Dingo.”

Dingo merely nodded, and the man shifted his gaze to Lenore. “And you must be Lenore Sterling I presume.”

“No, I'm her sister obviously.”

Dingo tried poorly to contain a laugh as Wallace planted an elbow in Lenore's side.

“Yes, I am.”

The man finally laid his inquisitive gaze on Wallace. He clearly didn't expect his presence.

“And you would be...?”

Wallace huffed with annoyance as he reached into his jacket for a cigar. “A friend of Lenore's.”

“I see.” The man allowed himself a small pause. “Can you vouch for your friend, Miss Sterling?”

 _I think that's the first time in my life I've been called Miss Sterling_ , the girl thought incredulously.

“Yes, he's okay. However, I didn't catch your name, Mr... ?”

“Frank Hysel, Mr. Raspberry's majordomo.” The man went for another deep bow as Wallace rolled his eyes. “I humbly apologize for these necessary formalities, but as you can properly understand, Mr. Raspberry's safety is at risk.”

Old Frank extracted a small key from his fashionable jacket and operated it to open the briefcase on the table. As all three of them had instantly guessed, the valuable contents were their advance payment. Dingo whistled before the brand-new stack of lilies.

“You'll get the rest once dear Mr. Raspberry is safe. Regrettably, I can't give you an exact itinerary for security reasons; I hope it's not a grave inconvenience to you and yours.”

As the man continued to speak gently, Wallace and Dingo approached the briefcase and unceremoniously cashed in their generous share.

When Lenore prepared to do the same however, old Frank gently placed his hand on the girl's, and their gazes met.

_What the…?_

Lenore stared at him with profound amazement. Throughout her mercenary career she had undoubtedly seen some extraordinary things, but this was definitely noteworthy.

Frank, a grown-up man, a man who most likely worked in the business with the most cutthroats and scoundrels in the city, was crying.

“Please, take good care of Mr. Raspberry.”


	3. The Road we walk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get bizarre as Lenore's lucrative contract unexpectedly blurs into the supernatural!  
> Meantime, Alexander discovers death is not the end, and that someone is interested in offering him a challenging job...

Chapter 3: The road we walk

Dingo's hot and inhospitable home country was in a constant state of unrest, where poverty and hunger fanned the flames of a seemingly perpetual struggle for power.

Factions were endlessly joining and disbanding as the war devoured even neighboring countries and the situation spiraled into chaos.

It was then that Dingo met his father. He still remembered him well, always bent over fixing his rifle, always ready to throw himself into the flames of war even though his best years were spent.

Granted, the man was not his biological father, after all, his parents had died during the conflict, but now the man was the only family Dingo could remember.

The man simply known as La Faina.

He was a soldier, a spy, a mercenary, a legend, respected as a hero, feared as a madman. A man capable of making the impossible possible.

The Weasel took Dingo with him, gave him a name, taught him everything he knew about combat, survival, espionage, foreign languages, everything. And then, one day, La Faina disappeared into thin air, just as he had appeared.

Dingo didn't know why La Faina had chosen him.

Maybe pity? For all he knew the old mercenary was terrified of not leaving behind a legacy of sort?

At the end of the war, members of the new government spoke of his tremendous abilities as both a soldier and an agent, seeing him as the right man to train and lead a new unit of others with his skills, but Dingo left the country behind without looking back, earning a living from what he had learned wherever he went.

Not because he needed to, but because it was all he knew.

He took part in several conflicts and undercover operations, but he never saw La Faina ever again.

And when one the way home from a job one night, tired and battered, and met a girl with long raven hair, silver eyes and no memories, he devoted himself to her as his father did to him so long ago.

***

Moonlight barely filtered through the thick storm clouds, illuminating the line of vehicles creeping stealthily along a particularly rough sylvan road.

A group of trucks escorted a large black car, offering it protection through a well-organized formation.

Most of the occupants of the vehicles waited in silence, scanning the horizon anxiously, rechecking their equipment over and over again, or very simply smoking. Most of them, at least.

“It's cold!” moaned Lenore. She exhaled deeply, staring at the mist produced by her breath as if to emphasize the problem. Lenore, Wallace, and Dingo were huddled together in the vehicle at the back of the column, the rear guard.

“Play it cool and shut up,” Wallace replied to her, trying to hide his own discomfort. “You're not the only one who's cold.”

Dingo laughed heartily, well protected by the icy night breeze. “Meh, I'm not cold, to be honest.”

“Damn!” Lenore squeezed between the two in search of warmth. “All of this just to make Law look good. Don't you ever feel a little… exploited? Just a little bit? Never?”

Understandably none of the other mercenaries had joined the odd trio at the back of the colonnade. Most agreed that a frontal assault would be folly, and their formation was particularly strong on the flanks... So, the most vulnerable part, the one that most thought would be the first to be attacked, was the rear. Besides, everyone knew Dingo wasn't particularly lucky and Lenore always ended up in peculiar situations. Joining the rear guard with them, despite their undoubted abilities, realistically was not an inviting prospect.

“Shut up, Lenore,” blurted Wallace. “If you hadn't come, Lawrence would have said goodbye to his established reputation as a mediator. And if he doesn't work, we don't work either.”

“I'm surprised Raspberry and co. don't remember me anyway,” said Lenore, with a mixture of astonishment and sadness “I was reasonably expecting a clever trap. A glorious revenge well planned down to the smallest detail. That sort of pleasant thing... not a grown man crying passionately...”

“Maybe all of this would make sense if we knew the whole story.” Suddenly, Wallace held up a inquisitive finger and pointed to something in the moonlit night “Wait a minute, we're not going that way... are we?”

The man correctly pointed to the twinkling lights of a port city in the distance. And to the trio's instinctive horror, the small motorized army was heading directly toward that city.

“Nice.” Dingo sat down, crossing his arms and legs resignedly. “Needless to say, the local airport in Lilium City would have been suicide, ditto the pier. But going to Ordova? Madness.”

It wasn't a particularly brilliant escape plan. Raspberry unquestionably had an interesting bounty on his head, and now they were about to voluntarily enter the town of Ordova, full of unsavory people ready to collect it.

“What do we do, Lenore?”

“We have the money.” Lenore gently stroked the bills, beaming with innocent joy. “Let's do a fifty thousand lily job and go, no extras.”

Wallace and Dingo giggled hysterically.

“We'll cut and run before things get serious.” Lenore was seriously contemplating the idea. “Also, I just have this.” She unsheathed the new sword she had enthusiastically received from old Runners. Partly she was quivering with earnest desire to try it, but the idea of breaking it after not even a day terrified her.

This time the seasoned blacksmith had made a particularly interesting model, featuring prominently a curved, single-edged blade with a circular guard and a long handle. It was an excellent weapon.

“I've got my rifle and a few rounds.”

“I've got some excellent stuff,” Dingo said smugly. The man was a walking armory: spare magazines, several throwing knives, grenades clipped to a belt and numerous cylindrical containers of various sizes with mysterious contents. On the man's shoulders were several holsters, with loaded firearms carefully secured in each.

Suddenly, the truck staggered. Lenore quickly regained her balance and took a quick look at the situation inside. At least a hundred men were obstructing the moonlit road while a second independent militia cautiously emerged from the convenient bushes to strike both flanks.

There were two likely possibilities: Raspberry had a mole among his own or particularly cunning opponents. Either way, his escort was unlikely to graciously offer adequate protection for a fierce attack of such magnitude: His lovely head had to be worth more than reasonably expected.

“What do you guys think?” asked Lenore.

“A fifty-thousand-lily job and not a penny more.” Wallace instantly reminded her. Rifle in hand, the two men promptly took their proper positions.

“I'm going to Raspberry's,” Lenore said. “Would you cover for me for a moment?”

The two nodded approvingly in unison.

“I'll be right back!”

Wallace and Dingo accurately fired a few warning shots at the nearest rabble to clear the way for Lenore, who sprang nimbly forward brandishing her gleaming blade.

“Get out of the way!” shouted Lenore.

She promptly knocked down the few mercenaries in her path, mostly with vicious punches and kicks, and occasionally with the flat part of her blade. “Don't make me use the sharp end, come on guys!”

Lenore fiercely struck a mercenary in the stomach with the hilt, knocking him out instantly, while Wallace and Dingo got her a few more precious yards with their covering fire, paving her way towards Raspberry's armored car.

It was then the girl realized something was wrong.

Lenore looked around, sword in hand. She was surrounded, but her enemies didn't seem particularly intent on facing her. They stood still, silent, amazed at the trail of abused but otherwise unharmed bodies left by the girl. She moved impatiently toward the nearest thug and carefully examined him from head to toe as he stared at her in genuine amazement.

“So what? That's not very professional of you...”

Lenore promptly turned at the unique sound of a raucous call to arms.

“Very well, everyone!” Shouted Raspberry, peering boldly out the window of his armored car. “These miserable bastards suck! Slay them! Brutally kill them all! Every last one of them!” He had a machine gun in one hand and a megaphone in the other and was wearing an enormous white hat.

 _What a cliché!_ Lenore thought, aware that things would take a turn for the worse from there on out.

The enemy forces all around her seemed to regain some kind of courage, or perhaps Raspberry's passionate speech had inflamed their ardent spirits as well.

The man closest to Lenore tried to hit her with a nunchaku, but the girl promptly ducked and leapt upwards as she readied a punch. Her attacker cashed in and staggered backwards, crushing another unfortunate man under his considerable weight.

Yet another man readied his rifle and took aim at the girl, but before he could fire, Dingo blew the weapon out of his hand with a single bullet. Wallace in the meantime discharged another couple of shots at the feet of a compact group that had targeted Raspberry's car.

Albert Raspberry tossed aside his flashy white hat and pulled out a second machine gun. Laughing like a madman, the man began firing all around him.

A grenade landed at Lenore's feet, but the girl, unfazed, simply kicked it back towards the enemy. The device exploded with force a few inches away from the face of the legitimate owner, who unfortunately was wearing a belt full of grenades.

The shockwave caused the earth tremble, and for a moment both sides paused before resuming the fight. Lenore smiled and started to walk towards a group of rival mercenaries, but Dingo quickly came up behind her and held her by the coat.

“I'd say it's time to scram, dummy!”

Lenore turned around in surprise. “What? Why!”

The man pointed to her something in the distance: other vehicles that had left Ordova were approaching the battle site with speed.

“Okay I'd say we've done our part,” Lenore quickly agreed. “Let's roll!”

As she approached him, Wallace grabbed Lenore, pulling her toward the woods on the side of the road, ignoring her protests. The trio crawled through the mud and disappeared into the elongated shadows of the trees, waiting for the conflict to escalate beyond belief and light the place up.

After a few moments gunfire erupted from both sides. One of the trucks exploded in a blazing fury, and Lenore couldn't help but rise from her hiding place for a moment.

“Oh come on, did you really have to bring a rocket launcher too?! How much is that idiot's head worth?! What about a tank too?”

Dingo and Wallace jumped up and forced the girl to the ground again.

Raspberry's men answered with a violent counterattack, exploiting the considerable astonishment caused by Lenore's spectacular frontal assault. But in the end, the considerable numbers and incredible weaponry of their formidable opponents prevailed. Raspberry's lifeless body was one of many scattered on the ground, his blood ironically mixed with that of his enemies. His hands were clasped around some machine guns, and someone had traditionally claimed his head as a ghastly trophy to collect the bounty. An eerie silence reigned over the scene, challenged only by rain and a few burning trucks.

Lenore observed the scene with some evident disgust as Dingo and Wallace crawled out of their respective hiding places.

“I'll never get used to this part.” She pointed contemptuously to the gruesome sight between Raspberry's shoulders with a mixture of genuine sadness and anger. “You seize the head and collect the reward.”

“We're not the best people to judge, you know.” Wallace replied thoughtfully.

“Yet here we are,” sighed Dingo, looking around grimly. “Regrettably, the road we have chosen is paved with death. Let us walk it with our eyes open or change our ways.”

They were content to be considered cowards, cowards with money to spend all things considered.

Giving up an impossible job was part of a mercenary's life; a hard lesson Dingo had learned from his father and then imparted to Lenore. There was a limit to human abilities after all.

“Now we know why Raspberry had put aside personal grudges and summoned you,” Wallace murmured, momentarily surprised by Dingo's unexpected philosophical streak. “He must have been damned desperate. What the hell did he see?”

“I don't want to hear that shit, not now, please.” Lenore replied dryly, ending the conversation.

But Wallace knew the girl was undoubtedly lying.

Lenore was a rare thing among mercenaries. She understood that sometimes she had to kill, after all it was a cruel necessity, but she didn't like doing it, just like the two men. However, the girl didn't particularly like bringing out this emotional side of her, but that was what had convinced Wallace to work with her.

It was then something horrible and unexpected happened.

One of the corpses stood up like it was the most ordinary thing ever. The poor guy was definitely an animated corpse, there was no shadow of a doubt, his right arm was gone, and the wounds were all too obvious. Yet even so, the body moved fluidly, as if a puppeteer was conducting it with invisible strings.

“Lenore.” Wallace had seen too much in his years as a mercenary to be frightened by the typical horrors of the job. But that macabre and unusual sight was definitely not something that was easy to find in routine work. The thing was too much, even for him. “Lenore!”

But it was too late. The corpse jumped silently, launching itself toward Lenore with its remaining arm ready to strike. The radiant moonlight sufficiently illuminated the savage creature through the rain clouds, revealing its long claws and fish-like scales. Lenore had her back to the creature, seemingly oblivious to the impending danger. Wallace watched with wide eyes, fixed on the spot, helpless. Dingo turned abruptly, but it was too late for him to do anything to stop the creature.

“A surprise attack, really?” Lenore laughed heartily. She grasped the corpse's arm, capitalizing on its considerable momentum to her advantage, and crashed it to the ground. “Watch a classic horror movie and take notes, and if you can't do something so simple, stay down like a decent dead man!” Lenore clenched a fist and sank it into the ample chest of her assailant.

She struck again and again, landing a remarkable series of savage blows of unexpected force.

Finally, she broke the creature's grinning jaw with an uppercut.

Lenore lifted the body like a sack of potatoes and twisted it over her knee, and Wallace and Dingo could tell by an eerie sound that the beast's spine had just been broken.

The girl threw the corpse to the ground and instantly sank a sole on the dreadful thing's stomach.

Lenore was still grasping the thing's arm, currently no longer attached to the body. As Dingo approached, partly terrified as much as intrigued, Lenore confiscated a loaded gun from his person and began to pull the trigger at inhuman speed, planting dozens of bullets into the corpse until the magazine was finally empty.

The thing was nothing more than a mass of jumbled flesh. Wallace stared at it open-mouthed.

Lenore handed the gun back to Dingo with a pleasant smile. The weapon was incredibly hot, and the man immediately examined it carefully after its mistreatment at Lenore's hands.

“Hey, go easy on poor Federica!”

Lenore tossed the body's arm aside. “Easy.”

Wallace stepped back a little. “What the hell was that?”

“Zombies? Undead?” proposed Dingo uncertainly “I'm out of luck, but this is too much even for me.”

Distressing sounds forced Wallace to turn toward what was left of the two sides. Suddenly, the man shouted into the night.

“We have a problem!”

Lenore turned casually.

More dismembered bodies were rising from what remained of the fierce conflict that had taken the lives of Raspberry and his men, swelling the ranks of the nightmarish creatures drawing from both sides unceremoniously.

Several men, each killed in the battle between Raspberry and his attackers.

Even the headless body of their client had risen to its feet.

The creatures began making their way toward the silver-eyed girl, their empty eye sockets illuminated by a dark bluish light, their mouths studded with shark's teeth, their features transfigured somewhere between those of a human and an abyssal fish.

Lenore answered in the sole way she knew how.

“Come!” she howled, beckoning them with a swaggering gesture.

Wallace was terrified, but the man quickly summoned up enough courage to ready his trusty rifle. In the meantime, Dingo had already prepared himself as best he could with two machine guns.

The world had ceased making sense. But Lenore seemed to be at ease in that surreal situation.

Lenore threw herself headlong, sword in hand, recovering an abandoned firearm on the ground with her free hand without stopping. She arrived a few steps away from the nightmarish army and, after a leap upwards, aimed at the belt overflowing with grenades of one of the corpses.

The terrific explosion dispersed the bulk of the enemy forces. Dingo and Wallace began accurately firing on the survivors while Lenore landed gently behind enemy lines. More corpses began rising from the ground anew.

That drizzly night was about to be tinged with horrific violence.

Wallace angrily crushed what remained of the last reanimated body under his sturdy boots.

The man looked around anxiously, searching futilely for a logical explanation to that horror. His muscles were hard as stone.

His brain began recovering slowly, accepting reality with difficulty.

He had no doubt. They were zombies, undead like the ones in the cheap horror movies they showed every Friday at the cinema in Lilium. He had contributed as best he could to the fight, however, although he would never admit it out loud, if it wasn't for Lenore and Dingo he likely would have died.

Still shaken, the man marched toward Lenore. His heart was still beating so hard it hurt. He was drenched with rain and sweat. However, his pride forced him to regain his ordinary calm in record time. He stared at the girl, who was intent on admiring a body on the ground.

“Was or what?”

“What do I know?” replied Lenore, shrugging. “Did you figure it out Dingo?”

Dingo was just ahead, intent on studying Raspberry's decapitated corpse, weapons in hand. His father had chronicled him incredible stories, but this one topped them all.

Suddenly the corpses began disappearing one by one, disintegrating into sea foam.

“I think I need a vacation.” Dingo finally replied, stowing away his machine guns as he approached the two. “A long vacation. And as for you,” the man raised a finger and directed it accusatively at Lenore. “Do you even use your head? Why did you charge straight into the unknown like that?”

Lenore merely stared at him, beaming as if the admonition represented flattery. “I learned from the best, didn't I?”

Lenore's nonchalance swept away what was left of Wallace's overwhelming anxiety and left Dingo speechless. Wallace knew the girl was strong, an impeccable companion. As long as he stayed with her, everything would be fine.

“Come on, let's go home. They're probably waiting for you. “

“Yeah, dinner's ready.” Wallace smiled with anticipation. “Do you want to come?”

“I just want something strong to forget about all of this,” Dingo murmured.

Lenore struck her fists in delight. “I accept. Has your little princess learned how to cook yet?”

“Don't be silly. Melissa is already sixteen years old. She cooks better than any restaurant in the neighborhood...” Wallace froze, staring incredulously at Lenore's weapon.

Lenore stared at him playfully. “Beautiful isn't she? The old man made it!”

“Actually...”

“The man's a genius, I tell you.” Lenore tried to perform a theatrical gesture with the sword, and that's when she noticed half the blade was gone. “My new sword!”

“Gone.”

Lenore stared at the weapon, disconsolate. She didn't know when or how the weapon had been irreparably damaged during the fight. Most likely she continued fighting in the heat of the moment as if nothing had happened.

“The old man is going killing me!” Lenore groaned in agony, anxiously studying the object from multiple angles. “I haven't even finished paying for it in full!”

“Well, half-price, half blade.” Giggled Dingo. In response Lenore hit him over the head with the flat of the sword.

“It's all right. You'll just have to take the next job offer that comes your way without a fuss.” Wallace laughed.

Lenore huffed. “Damn.”

It was then that Dingo pointed out to her that her coat was also another unfortunate victim of the fearful night. “I hope you're not done paying for that, too.”

“Damn it all!” Howled the girl, instantly taking off her coat to grudgingly admire the incredible amounts of brutal cuts and tears. “I'm her most profitable customer, that harpy Jessie owes me a discount! This one barely made it past twenty-four hours!”

Dingo patted the girl on the back, and the two men began to laugh joyously. The warm laughter of the two quickly infected Lenore as well, who joined them.

***

Alexander had never been a particularly religious man, although his parents were firm believers.

However, the philosophical idea of a certain something after death had always intrigued him, after all in his chosen profession the legitimate fear of passing away was a constant companion. Longtime veterans learned to live with it and willingly accept it, sooner or later. Most of the time, at least.

And so, driven by that strange curiosity, the Red Devil occasionally dabbled in reading religious tomes.

Some promised eternal life after death in a golden paradise, others spoke of reincarnation, and of course others still spoke of a divine punishment for the wicked.

However, none of those sacred books could adequately prepare Alexander Donnell for what awaited him on the other side: the most complete and absolute nothingness.

Alexander blinked and looked around for certainty.

_Am I... dead? For Real?_

He couldn't remember the gory details of his premature death with any precision, but an irrepressible sadness seemed to weigh him down to the point of preventing him from moving.

The Red Devil's shadow took a step forward and looked down.

Fine black sand shifted beneath his feet. It was then that the ominous sound of the waves graced his ears, and Alexander belatedly realized he was on a desolate beach.

He started running, confused but determined to figure it out.

However, no matter how much he ran, Alexander always seemed to forcibly return to the same spot.

And the confusion became overwhelming despair.

_Lenore... this is Lenore's fault! All of it! Damn her!_

Despair ignited the charred embers of anger.

_Lenore! Lenore Lenore Lenore-_

And anger flared into uncontrollable fury.

And in that moment, the merciless waves spoke to him in a cold, cruel voice.

“Pathetic, yet determined I see.”

Shivering with rage Alexander looked around with a courage he had never known in his life.

“Who has spoken? Who are you? Show yourself!”

Someone laughed delightedly in the impenetrable darkness, smothering the flame of the man's courage. He had undoubtedly heard that laugh before, moments ahead of his sorry end.

A gentle sound of bare feet on the pristine sand forced him to turn around despite his profound horror.

“I graciously offer you an exclusive deal... Red Devil.”

Over the course of his life as a gun for hire, Alexander had learned an essential lesson almost immediately: There's always a bigger fish.

His infallible instincts wisely suggested that if he was a shark, the girl with teal hair in front of him was a leviathan by comparison.

The man's knees failed, and Alexander fell to the sand.

“Who are you...?”

“I am a Pleiad. And my name is Ionia.”


	4. After the storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things seem to be back to normal. Lenore and her friends celebrate and engage in a fairly ordinary contract.

Chapter 4: After the storm

Malzel staggered into the Yellow King and shrugged off the rainwater like a wet dog.

The man pulled straight up to the counter and dropped onto a stool as Hastur approached.

The former mercenary lowered his head reverently. “Your majesty.”

Hastur sighed as he stowed his cleaning cloth in a pocket. “The usual, Malzel?”

“Of course.” With a smile Malzel rummaged through his pockets before setting a bunch of lilies on the counter. “My humble tribute.”

Hastur took a couple of bills and pushed the remaining ones toward the man. “A discount for longtime customers.”

The other man didn't need to heard it twice and shoved the money back into his pocket with speed, beaming with joy.

“Your majesty is truly generous.”

Shortly after, Hastur planted a generous mug of beer in front of Malzel before glancing around the pub. It was almost dawn, and by now most of the clientele was gradually leaving the Yellow King. Before long only Malzel and Hastur remained, and with a relieved manner he loosened his tie, tossed his apron aside, and retrieved a rare bottle of fine whiskey from under the table.

“Malzel, you've been around quite a bit, haven't you? Did you see anything... Strange?”

Malzel downed a swig of his beer. “Ah, I see news travels fast.”

Hastur gently poured himself a glass of golden whiskey and carefully examined the sparkling glass against the light of a candle. “Especially the unpleasant ones.”

The two continued drinking together for some time in silence.

“Drunken chatter, of course,” resumed Hastur. “However, people unaccountably disappear into thin air, that's a fact. Whether it's the fault of demons, ghosts or some madman who escaped from the sanatorium is another matter.”

“That sanatorium outside the city is more of a prison than a medical institution.”

“Oh who cares, maybe it's usual gang rivalry or what. As long as they don't cancel the lantern festival, I've invested good money in it this year.”

The men finished their respective drinks and said their goodbyes as Hastur tidied up the place.

***

“Lenore! You're not feminine at all!”

Melissa Bennett exploded an offended cry from across the table, ready to wield eldest daughter authority. Her rosy cheeks and short ebony hair reminded Lenore very much of her friend Wallace. Despite her sixteen years, the girl looked much older.

“But I'm starving!” Shouted Lenore indignantly. “I paid for my groceries, and I'm a guest. So I can eat as I please! “

“Do it again Uncle Dingo, do it again!” shrieked Eric, Wallace's second son. The boy was ecstatic at the skill with which the man assembled and disassembled his favorite gun in seconds.

“Okay, just once. Watch carefully...”

Meanwhile, Francine, Wallace's youngest daughter, was gurgling with pleasure on Lenore's knee.

Wallace stared at the scene in horror. Lenore's stomach seemed to have no bottom.

“Eric! Leave Mr. Dingo alone and come help me!” blurted Melissa. But her brother didn't even consider it.

“Come on Melly, don't give me a hard time!”“

Lenore looked at Eric with mock reproach. “You're a real gentleman like your dad, huh?” The girl suddenly turned her attention to Francine, who was intent on fiddling with her long black hair. “My hair is not to be eaten!”

Wallace unsuccessfully tried hiding a smile when he realized his plate was gone. “Hey, you're eating my portion!”

“You invited me,” Lenore pointed out again with satisfaction. “Don't be rude Wallace! Francine, open up!” He mimicked an airplane with his spoon and fed her.

“Uncle Dingo! Uncle Dingo! Can I take a shot?”

“Absolutely-”

“Absolutely not!” Melissa turned to her father, desperate. “Daddy do something!”

“Goodness.” Wallace lowered his head into his hands. “Every time you come to see me, this place turns into an insane asylum. “

Melissa brought her father a steaming cup of coffee. Despite everything she was a simple girl, but she seemed to know how to make others feel comfortable.

The hustle and bustle of dinner eventually faded away as the children disappeared who knows where back to their games, dragging Dingo with them under Melissa's watchful eye.

Wallace and Lenore moved into the living room and slumped into some old leather chairs.

“Gosh,” Lenore said. “Is dinner at your house always such a social event?”

“They see you as one of them. You're an overgrown baby after all.”

Lenore merely smiled.

“True. But Melly cooks beautifully, and underneath it all, I like it here. Dingo has many talents, but the cooking...”

“I'm glad.” Wallace lit a cigar, drawing the smoke away from Lenore as best he could. “It's hard for her, you know? She should be out there playing with her friends, but ever since my wife died she's been taking care of the family. She's sacrificed so much. I can't thank her enough.”

“And in our business, you just can't find another wife.”

Wallace approached her, smiling mischievously.

“That's why I have to ask you something.”

Lenore blinked in amazement.

“Hey! I'm not the kind of person you want to marry, you know that yes?”

“Shut up and listen. I was merely conjecturing that when you have some time, maybe you could take Mel shopping or girl stuff. I don't know, to the hair salon or the like...”

Lenore jumped to her feet in amazement as she tried figuring out whether to feel honored or offended.

“What, who, me?”

“Yes, you. She really seems to like you, you know.”

“Doing feminine things? Me? I didn't think paying you back for dinner was going to be impossible! This is not an honest business, you know?! “

Wallace sighed, staring at his cigar.

“Forget it. You'd probably make her a thug. You'd definitely drag her to the Yellow King or who knows where.”

The two burst out laughing. The evening was a brief taste of normalcy. For Lenore, who had no real family, those little moments were truly precious.

***

The express train slowed down and entered the space covered by the gigantic roof of Lilium's main station.

The passengers getting off were few, even considering the late hour. And although his target was wearing a simple trench coat and carrying an ordinary leather travel bag, the material provided by Dingo was more than enough for Wallace to correctly identify him at first glance. Several pleasant days had passed since that strange night, and finally things seemed to be back to normal.

The mercenary continued to watch from behind his newspaper as the man crossed the platform to the door that led inside the station, where a group of policemen were listlessly checking IDs. The man with the duffel bag passed the checks unscathed and headed for the station exit, unaware that he was being followed.

“Target is leaving the station through the exit directly behind you.”

Wallace as naturally as possible brought a hand to his right ear and answered Dingo via the communicator.

“Roger that.”

Wallace reluctantly extinguished his cigar and exited, continuing his stalking down the foggy cobblestone street.

The streetlights were on, though seemingly only for the benefit of Wallace and his intended prey. It was raining hard, as it always had for a while, and the streets were empty. After all, there had been rumors of people suddenly disappearing into thin air lately.

Although Wallace kept a good distance, all the other had to do was turn around and see him, and that would be the end of it. The mercenary, however, wanted to arouse as little suspicion as possible, and his naturalness seemed to help him.

The visibility wasn't the best, but Wallace knew that somewhere out there Dingo was keeping an eye on the scene with military binoculars or some other similar hi-tech contraption, and he decided to give the man a slight advantage.

Eventually, his prey arrived in the vicinity of a disused diner. A guard on the threshold looked around to see if the man had been followed, failing to do so.

He carefully checked the man's papers and motioned for him to enter, while Wallace retreated into a dark alley to communicate with his colleagues.

“Target is in position, are you there?”

Wallace waited for an answer, his gaze precisely fixed on the guard at the entrance.

“I repeat, target is in position, are you there?”

Nothing. With growing anxiety Wallace prepared to repeat himself again, but Lenore's familiar voice hissed from the small communicator.

“You need to say the phrase.”

The mercenary instantly froze in place, temporarily stunned.

“Are you ser-”

“Say the phrase.”

Wallace turned his gaze to the sky in profound despair. He'd hoped that working with Dingo would at least find some professionalism, but he'd forgotten about Lenore's knack for surprising every time.

“The woods have changed.” Wallace growled through gritted teeth.

“But the owls are still there!”

Moments later, Lenore swooped down on the poor unsuspecting guard, promptly knocking him out with a single blow.

Wallace couldn't help but sigh wearily as he reluctantly left his hiding place, whispering solemnly in the girl's ear. “Show-off.”

Wallace and Lenore continued to land guard after guard, promptly taking advantage of punches, kicks, and the weapons of the fallen. Finally, an unexpected explosion shook the building, and the two mercenaries and the last three remaining guards paused for a moment to contemplate the situation.

“What the...?!” Shouted Wallace.

“This must be Dingo making his entrance; I guess.” Laughed Lenore amusedly.

And indeed, shortly thereafter Dingo made his entrance into the room. With one hand he held a bag similar to the one possessed by the man Wallace had stalked earlier, accompanied by another smaller bag, with the other he held a guard in check and threatened him with a knife to the throat.

“Did you guys miss me?”

The three men collectively pointed their machine guns at Dingo. But with one of their comrades used as a human shield, they dared not fire.

“Where did that guy come from?!” cried one of the men.

Fear was more than visible on the hostage's face. “What do I know?!”

The three unanimously decided to temporarily ignore Wallace and Lenore and simultaneously sprinted toward Dingo. The mercenary in response merely pushed the hostage against the nearest guard. The other two guards tried to fire, but Dingo was already too close, and in a close encounter his skills and knife were far superior. It wasn't long before he landed the rest of the guards without his colleagues lifting a single finger to help him.

“I've got it, let's go, as planned!”

Dingo tossed the smaller bag to Wallace, who took the front door while Lenore followed him to the back and mounted the bike with him.

“Are you ready?”

The motorcycle's mighty engine roared into the frigid night. “I only get off the bike when I fall in love or get killed.”

Downtown was fairly modern, with its bright buildings and sky-defying skyscrapers, but the city still had its years, and it showed in its old, well-preserved streets in all their considerable annoyances. The narrow, winding streets were no trivial problem, even for Dingo.

But they were even more so for their pursuers, who seemed to be devoid of motorcycles. It was hard to imagine them gaining ground with their bulky vehicle.

However, the car came dangerously close to the motorcycle in an attempt to ram the vehicle.

“Lenore!” Shouted Dingo. “Do something!”

“If you ask me like that!”

The girl seized a weapon from the mercenary's paraphernalia and shot out the car's tires, which slammed into the billboard that had charmed Alexander. Moments later two men cautiously emerged from the wrecked vehicle, intent on arguing bitterly with each other.

“Oooops!”

The engine roared as they sped down the main street, and the cold, damp air shook Lenore's long raven hair from her face as the modern city gave way to a more natural atmosphere. Dingo stopped the bike under a large tree outside of Lilium, and while the man surveyed the bike for damage, Lenore cheerfully inspected the precious contents of the bag: money. “Wow, that's a lot! Are you sure it's okay to take it?”

“It's dirty money anyway, might as well take it. No? And my client doesn't care what I do with it. You and Wallace can keep them. Now, for my payment, however...”

The man finished checking the bike and slowly began to disarm, weapon by weapon, as Lenore stared at him. The girl knew what was undoubtedly coming.

“Really? Here? Right now?”

The mercenary disregarded her question and naturally assumed a defensive stance as the girl flung her bag aside with resignation. She was used to practicing with Dingo, though the location and circumstances left her quite puzzled.

Dingo, on the other hand, had witnessed Lenore's unusual strength over and over again, but he couldn't help but look for a challenge. He remembered vividly when the girl had fallen clumsily on her back from the top of a tree and, as if nothing had happened, in an instant she had leapt nimbly to her feet to open her hands and show him a chick she had plucked from the nest. An ordinary person would have ended up in the hospital with a broken back or worse.

It was also true that her strength had repeatedly gotten her into trouble, like the time when, shortly after her first night at the Yellow King, she had gotten into a fight with some unsavory figures. That day she had overpowered seven men of questionable morals in an alley by herself and then returned home without a scratch. And then there had been that nightmarish night impossible to merely forget, still vivid and indelible in his thoughts.

Dingo smiled under his helmet; those were good memories. Memories that provided him with a sort of paternal pride.

The man couldn't help but naturally wonder if La Faina had felt the same way about him.

Lenore inevitably raised her fists, and the two measured the distance between them.

“Show me what you got, Lenore!”

Lenore reluctantly accepted the invitation and charged full speed towards Dingo. The mercenary, taken aback by the 'sudden and savage attack, cashed in the blow in the chest as best he could.

Lenore, who had charged in heads down, raised her head, hitting the lower part of Dingo's helmet, and continued her attack by planting a shoulder into his rib cage. Dingo was briefly overwhelmed by the initial attack, but still managed to shake off Lenore and hit her with a vigorous elbow to the back.

The violent impact left her temporarily breathless. For a brief moment, her guard dropped. Dingo embraced the opportunity and landed a knee strike. Lenore retreated and tilted her head back the instant Dingo's elbow touched her left cheek, causing her to stagger.

Pressing the attack, the mercenary launched into a roundhouse kick, but before centripetal force could accelerate the toe into the tender muscles of Lenore's side, the girl quickly jumped backward.

Lenore swooped down on Dingo again and began hitting him with everything she had. Chest, stomach, back, face. Her elbows and forearms sank into every piece of flesh she could find.

In spite of the ferocity, this contest overflowed with something exceptional, the sporting purity of two adversaries who struck each other, without malice or murderous intent, to prove their worth and test their skills.

And finally came the decisive blow. Lenore's fist almost touched Dingo's.

Virtually simultaneously, the cheeks of the two were smashed by their clenched hands.

Neither of them moved. Almost as if they were checking each other's temperature, each fighter's fist remained lodged in the cheek it had struck.

After an interminable moment, a figure slowly fell backwards, and shortly thereafter Lenore followed Dingo to the ground.

The two stood there, on the ground, catching their breath.

“Why don't you ever get serious with me?” Dingo asked, breathing heavily as he lay down on the damp grass with his face to the sky.

“I'm always serious with you!” Protested Lenore, gently rolling onto her side.

Dingo turned his head and merely stared at the girl's back, before sighing impatiently. Despite displaying several extraordinary talents, she was not good at lying at all.

The man relaxed and smiled gently at the night sky above.

Lenore got up from the ground, stretched, and walked toward the bike. "Anyway, do you mind giving me a ride?"

Dingo turned to her and stood up in turn, puzzled. "Home early?"

The girl smiled triumphantly and hugged the duffel bag loaded with money. "Of course not, Wallace is likely waiting impatiently for us at the Yellow King to solemnly celebrate, but first I have a small debt to pay off..." Lenore's smile disappeared instantly. "And I need a new sword."

***

“You still alive, old man?”

Runners widened his eyes and threw away his work tools.

The old blacksmith turned toward the entrance of the store, and just as he had predicted, Lenore stood by the doorway, beaming as usual. The girl's huge duffel bag intrigued him for a moment, but in the end the man decided not to pay any more attention to it than necessary.

Runners sighed loudly, resigned as usual. “Yes, unfortunately. What do you want?”

Lenore walked through the store looking around before reaching in front of the counter and dropping the bag to the floor. The metallic thud of the object increased the man's curiosity.

“Come on grumpy, I'm here to pay!” Lenore reached down and began fumbling with the zipper of the bag. “But if you don't want to, I can always come back later...”.

In response, the man merely crossed his arms as Lenore tossed several white wads of money in bulk onto the counter without even getting up from the floor.

Runners reached out a hand to the nearest bundle and rustled the bills with a smile. “Payday?”

The girl continued without providing him an answer, and soon Runners realized something was amiss.

“Hey! Hey, Lenore! You're giving me more than I should-”

It was then that the girl retrieved the remains of her sword broken during the nightmarish night from her duffel bag and flung them on the counter along with the money.

“Well, I'll still have to pay you for a new one, so...”

Mirek Runners gripped what was left of the sword, and his gaze moved from one piece to the other several times before finally stopping on Lenore. When she hinted a smile, the man began trembling with rage and seemed about to explode, but he merely dropped the poor remains of his creation on the counter as Lenore backed away.

Knowing the girl's destructive tendencies, Runners should have known better than to tempt fate with a design that was ill suited to her abuse. However, this time the man was certain he had created something that could stand up to Lenore... Only to fail yet again.

“I would like to ask you how, when, and most importantly, why.” The man finally said in a solemn tone as he began arranging the money in a drawer under the counter. “But I'm not sure I want to know.”

“I can assure you it's a compelling story,” chuckled the girl as she retrieved the duffel bag from the floor. “A story full of action, terror, and...”

Runners shushed the girl by throwing a wad in her face. “Here's a hell of a discount for you, now get lost!”

“Yes, Mr. Captain!”

Lenore pocketed the money without asking twice and walked backward towards the door, however the girl stopped in front of a sword similar to the one she had destroyed.

The girl smiled, picked up the weapon and stared at the old blacksmith.

“I'll take this one!” Before Runners could reply, Lenore was already gone.

Alone with his thoughts, the man sighed again and brought a sliver of the blade closer to his rugged face.

“Curious. Really curious...”


	5. The Masked Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lawrence brings a mysterious man to the Yellow King. The talented newcomer eagerly seeks a direct confrontation to show off his skills... Lenore!

Chapter 5: The Masked Man

Lilium City had two main holidays.

The first, the Festival of the Lilies, joyfully celebrated the founding of the city and the old marketplace. In fact, history tells us that the city came to life thanks to the flower trade that was held annually in what was a small village. The market profitably grew and with it also grew the small village, which gradually became a big city. The official celebrations for the Festival of the Lilies generally included parades and other social events.

The second festival, the Lantern Festival, had more romantic and legendary roots.

According to local legend, Lilium was subjugated long ago by a terrible eight-headed dragon who aggressively demanded innocent maidens in exchange for a promise not to ravage the land.

A wandering knight saw the maiden destined for the next sacrifice and couldn't help but instantly fall in love with her. So, the knight promised faithfully that he would save her life, in exchange for the chance to marry her. Needless to say, the parents readily agreed to the marriage, on the condition that their beloved daughter's life would be spared.

The knight then worked day and night to produce eight beautiful colored lanterns with which he adorned the girl's home.

When the powerful dragon arrived in front of the modest house, he found the eight lanterns and was struck by their remarkable beauty. Promptly taking advantage of this key moment of weakness, the noble knight struck and managed to cut off at least four of the dragon's hideous heads.

Then followed a brutal fight that lasted for hours, decided in the end only by overwhelming fatigue and the missing heads of the grotesque monster.

Since then, every year the town is traditionally decorated with beautiful lanterns to commemorate the extraordinary courage of the gallant knight who defeated the mythical beast.

This year Hastur had decided precisely to invest in the lantern festival, but the unusual cases of missing people were beginning to trouble the mayor, who seriously considered canceling the festival.

Hastur was intent on polishing the pub counter again and again, his gaze lost in profound emptiness, his mind focused on the festival's seemingly doomed fate.

“Hey your gracious majesty! What's with the long face? “

A familiar voice rang out over the bustle of the Yellow King a few minutes after midnight.

Lawrence was standing in the doorway with a smirk on his face.

“I'm not in the mood tonight Lawrence,” growled Hastur, forcefully placing a mug on the counter for the little man. “What'll you have?”

Lawrence relented before Hastur's considerable discontent.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” he merely murmured. “I'm not here on business. I just wanted you to meet someone.” Lawrence turned and motioned toward the door. “Hey, come on in!”

The man turned back to Hastur. “An old friend asked me to properly introduce this guy to you, and I couldn't refuse. A favor to a friend, you see, he sincerely wants me to make sure this guy settles in, makes himself comfortable here and all of that.”

 _Or at least that he doesn't kick the bucket on the first night_. He naturally thought with profound embarrassment.

Lawrence's unusual sense of obligation was part of what had undoubtedly contributed to his impressive reputation among mercenaries and underworlders, after all.

“The kid was a bounty hunter I think, and now he wants to prove himself as a mercenary. Or something like that. Something he can supplement with when he's not working for that auction house... Ah here he comes.”

A figure slowly entered the Yellow King.

The newcomer was thin but quite muscular. His elegant dark blue suit wrought with silver details, far too fashionable and most likely expensive for any low-tier mercenary, was flanked by a well-made sword. It's scabbard's splendid colors matched the man's outfit, but the most peculiar thing about the man’s appearance was the black and silver mask that covered the top of his face, concealing his eyes and most of his face. What little could be glimpsed from beneath the mask was carefully covered by bandages.

A hush fell over the crowd, and several customers turned curiously toward the newcomer.

“This is Marlin,” Lawrence explained to Hastur, casually raising the tone of his voice so that everyone could hear him more than well. “They tell me he had a little accident at work, reason for the bandages, and that he doesn't talk much. He is truly gifted, or so they say, though!”

Marlin bowed with the admirable precision of a distinguished gentleman and rose again, casually styling back his long, silvered hair with a deft hand.

The atmosphere in the pub had definitely changed. All eyes were set on the stranger and the hands were clasped around knives and guns under the tables. Lawrence darted his gaze nervously from table to table as he dripped with sweat, aware that the slightest misstep could set off the powder keg. It had already happened, often enough, all too often, that a mercenary's first entrance to the Yellow King was also his last.

Marlin took advantage of the considerable pause to look around. His face was inscrutable behind the mask, but his figure radiated confidence and a certain decorum that he had probably acquired during his profitable employment at the auction house.

Finally, the masked man spoke.

“I ask one thing and one thing alone, gentlemen.”

The atmosphere became even more tense as bored or simply curious looks turned to challenge.

“I want to confront the strongest man you have.” Marlin paused for his words to gain traction before quickly unsheathing his sword, a single-edged blade of oriental design. The peculiar beauty and rarity of the weapon were probably wasted on most of that audience, but Hastur and Malzel quickly took note of the refined item.

“My actions will be my resume. What do you say, gentlemen?” Marlin slowly swung his sword from one side of the room to the other, dwelling on each mercenary. Tension rose, but none stepped forward to accept the man's challenge. Marlin calmly continued his scan of the pub, finally aiming for... Lenore. The girl was too busy beating Dingo at arm wrestling and enthusiastically celebrating the work accomplished just moments before to care about the newcomer and his personal introduction.

Lawrence stared anxiously at the scene in helpless horror, unsure of what to do to prevent tragedy. Before the intermediary could attempt to dissuade him, the masked man had already elected his challenger.

“You.” Marlin pointed at Lenore. “I have a feeling you're the strongest one here. Am I wrong?”

Lenore casually tipped Dingo out of his chair and jumped nimbly to her feet in delight.

“I'm a little busy right now, think again, new guy.”

Marlin tilted his head to one side. The corners of his mouth revealed a certain degree of genuine amusement.

“Oh. I seek your pardon.” Suddenly, his sword hissed and sliced through Lenore's table with ease, cleaving it into two perfect halves without the slightest effort. Some patrons gasped with awe; others stood up brandishing their guns. “Are you available now?”

Wallace stared at the two halves of the table. “What the hell dude?!”

Lenore stared at the masked man, clenching her fists, thrilled.

“Hey, cool!” Lenore smiled nonchalantly. “It's about time we saw some decent swordsman. Let's enjoy this, don't hold back! No excuses for when you lose, however!”

Lenore promptly pulled out her new sword. Marlin grabbed his scabbard with his other hand, moving gracefully. The two of them moved into the center of the room, while the other patrons moved toward the walls, circling the two. They both knew that a single step forward was one too many, but Marlin masterfully commanded the gap between them with his magnificent sword, putting Lenore at a considerable disadvantage.

The atmosphere was intense. Lenore imagined everyone in the pub was in a cold sweat, and rigorously suppressed the irresistible urge to laugh.

That's when Marlin struck.

The masked man darted forward with incredible speed, bridging the gap between the two in a breathless instant and genuinely surprising Lenore.

Lenore blinked with considerable astonishment. _He's fast!_

The girl instantly realized that most likely only she, and maybe Dingo, had eyes capable of faithfully following Marlin's deft movements. For most of the occupants of the Yellow King, Marlin had to move so fast that he genuinely seemed to be standing still in place.

Lenore casually deflected the tip of the incoming sword, ready for that frontal assault. The man was probably counting on ending the duel in one fell swoop. “Too easy, newbie.”

With a bottom-up stroke the girl crossed her blade with Marlin's, promptly sending his weapon flying from his hand, disarming him.

“We're done here, newbie.” Lenore moved her blade toward the mask, confident in her victory over the man.

“I underestimated you, that's true.” Confessed Marlin. “My heartfelt apologies. However...” Marlin suddenly launched himself into the air, arching backwards. One of his sturdy legs impacted with haste and might on Lenore's wrist, disarming her.

Marlin landed gracefully on his feet and stopped to stare at her in profound satisfaction, styling back his hair once again.

“Now we're even. But it's not over yet.” The man exploded into a frenzy of mighty kicks and punches, each thrown with a incredible precision Lenore had never seen until now, even during her harsher sparring sessions with Dingo. All the girl could do was dodge blow after blow as she bided her time to counter. Each attack contained enough force that a direct hit equaled broken bones, everyone in the room could see it.

“You're not bad, newbie.” Lenore's voice lacked her typically sarcastic tone.

The other mercenaries admired speechlessly as Marlin forced Lenore back. After two feints to the head Marlin planted a knee into the girl's stomach. Lenore reflexively tightened her abdominal muscles and crossed her arms to defend herself, but it was too late.

The man exploited this rare opportunity to deliver another blow, and Lenore flew backwards and fell awkwardly on floor, crashing headfirst into the leg of a table. The impact knocked over a mug of dark beer, which completely drenched her.

“Nice kick.”

“Shall we conclude?”

Lenore stood up, soaked in stale alcohol. The two the combatants granted each other a reasonable distance before resuming their duel.

It was then that everyone else in the room suddenly realized that neither had been fighting seriously. Their exchanges had been nothing more than a little show than anything else, the two had merely studied each other as they traded blows without targeting vital areas. Mercenaries instinctively recognized certain things, and knowing that things would be different now they collectively took steps back from the center of the room.

Lenore's humor was definitely gone. The girl narrowed her eyes as she stared at Marlin, carefully studying his stance and his arms. Those arms were rippled with muscle. She was certain of it after cashing in that blow, and the masked man was definitely capable of landing some major damage if she allowed him to.

Lawrence's genuine horror kept on growing, and without averting his direct gaze from the two contestants the man tried to reach for his glass of whisky. His clumsiness, however, caused the glass to crash to the floor.

The sound of shattered glass pierced the silence and worked as a makeshift ring bell.

Lenore and Marlin threw themselves at each other once again.

Lenore dodged a straight punch and retaliated with a swift uppercut. Marlin deftly evaded the blow and readied a kick with a sneer, ostensibly aiming for the girl's stomach once again, unaware that the uppercut was merely a decoy. Lenore struck her opponent's face with an impressive streak of punches. Marlin took in the blows and resumed his assault to the girl's stomach. The two split up to catch their breath, apparently unharmed. Suddenly, each lunged toward their weapon abandoned on the floor before engaging again.

“You're slow!” croaked Marlin.

The two glittering blades collided, releasing a continuous shower of brilliant sparks. Lenore and Marlin were equally matched. Their weapons clinked and rang fiercely, but neither could gain any ground. The standoff further increased the tension in the pub, and for a time only the distinctive sound of steel clashing against steel resonated within the room. Lenore eventually faked a kick and they both jumped backwards, breathing heavily.

“Not bad, not bad at all.” Marlin giggled.

“Yeah, you're not bad for a newbie, dear Mr Masked Man.”

Lenore knew where the duel was going to go. Clearly a contest of strength that could not be solved by fists or swords could only be solved by one thing and one alone: firearms. Lenore could see from the twitching of Marlin's hand and by the leathery holster at his side that her opponent had reached the same conclusion.

But a deafening gunshot blocked the two before either could draw their gun.

“All right, all right, that's it.” Intimated Hastur, instantly lowering his smoking weapon, a three barrelled hunting rifle of ivory and dazzling gold. “If you two ruin my bar any further I'll have to ban you. For life, that is.” Hastur flung the rifle to Lawrence and brought his hands to his sides, staring at Lenore and Marlin as if they were restless children. “You want to get into a fistfight? Okay, who cares, that's ordinary sport here. Swords? Cool, have fun with that. Guns? That's too much, lads.”

You're the one who just fired a gun, Lenore mentally protested, staring at the impressive hole Hastur's shot had left in the roof.

The mercenaries breathed a collective sigh of relief, and some promptly fell on their chairs. Hastur made his way through the enthusiastic crowd, dragging something heavy behind himself.

“I think someone just changed the rules of the game,” Lenore sighed resignedly.

She pointed to Hastur with a raised eyebrow. After a moment, the man finally reached the nearest table and with little effort he promptly placed a chilled keg on the table, followed by two tiny glasses.

“There's only one more way to undoubtedly prove who's the better man,” Hastur said, filling one of the glasses.

“Or better woman.” Chuckled Dingo to the crowd, and other mercenaries burst out laughing.

Lenore and Marlin stared thoughtfully at the barrel and exchanged a look while Lawrence breathed with relief.

Finally, Lenore threw herself into an empty chair with a resigned air.

Marlin was as puzzled and bewildered as a fish out of water.

“What is the meaning of this? Are you giving up?”

“Are you deaf, newbie?” Laughed Wallace, but it was clear that Marlin didn't know which way to turn. “She said the rules of the game have changed.”

Lenore reached for one of the glasses and motioned for Marlin to sit before her.

Drinking contests had satisfactorily resolved countless conflicts over the centuries. Or at least they provided free alcohol. Even if Lenore wasn't thrilled about it, given her heartily dislike of alcohol, she couldn't break character before all of her long-time colleagues.

“Trust me,” the girl hissed through gritted teeth, bearing her face closer to the man's mask. “I definitely preferred swords and fists.”

Hastur walked back to the counter and raised his hands, a mug in each. “Alright little ladies! What do we do here?”

“We drink!” The patrons shouted gleefully in unison.

The man smiled with pride before addressing his loyal subjects once more. “I can't hear you, louder!”

“We drink!”

“And how do we solve conflicts here at the Yellow King?”

“Drinking!”

“Indeed!” Hastur slammed both mugs on the counter with might. “But what do you want? Beer? Whisky? Wine? I've got them all!” Hastur sneered, placing his hands on his sides. “What do you want? Be more specific boys!”

“Hastur's elixir!”

The room full of mercenaries roared in enthusiastic approval as several men promptly raised their glasses in victory.

Marlin was standing in front of the table, still confused. Lenore was sitting across from him with a glass in her hand. Someone cautiously approached Marlin and pointed eagerly at the glass before him on the table.

“Hey, newbie.” Lenore whispered, reaching out to Marlin. “Friendly advice. Drink like you want to die. If you don’t, you'll die for real!”

“Ready?” Shouted Hastur, carefully filling a long set of mugs on the counter for the rest of the audience. “Begin!”

A chorus of roars rang out and Lenore downed her glass with a disgusted expression.

Marlin stared at the girl from behind the mask and gradually brought the glass to his mouth before following suit. He felt the fiery liquid pervade his mouth, but the man held his ground.

The fierce contest kept going for a while, as if Marlin equaled Lenore in this odd battlefield.

“Not bad,” giggled Lenore, drinking down yet another glass. “But for how long can you keep it up, newbie?”

Marlin smirked before drinking down another glass brimming of fiery liquid. “I'm told a mercenary should always trust his weapon of choice, no? Be it fists, swords, guns or liquors, I'll beat you.”

The masked man slammed his glass on the table, ready for another round, but something happened.

The hand holding the glass began to shake uncontrollably, and Marlin rushed to impose the other on it. The tremor spread through the masked man's entire body, and shortly thereafter Marlin fell backwards disastrously. Alcohol began spilling from Marlin's mouth and created a small lake on the floor as someone approached to taunt him.

“What's up, newbie?” asked Lenore casually as she downed another glass. “Your so-called weapon of choice betrayed you?”

Dingo and another mercenary tried to reluctantly help Marlin. The man stood up briefly only to crash to the ground once again face first.

As the crowd honoured her, Lenore downed her yet another glass.

“You rock!”

 _As if downing this crap makes you cool_ , thought the girl to herself.

After all, this too was part of the job and part of being a mercenary, or so Lenore told herself. As the crowd around her exploded, the girl threw her glass at Hastur. Lenore grabbed the half-empty keg with both hands and tilted it back so that a steady stream of homemade alcohol flowed abundantly into her mouth. She emptied the keg amidst the general exuberance and let it crash to the ground once empty. The enthusiastic crowd was utterly uncontrollable.

Lenore raised her right arm like a victorious boxer before bowing before Hastur.

“I'd say I won the contest, your majesty?”

“Looks that way,” Hastur smilingly replied. “I haven't seen you go at it in a long time. Now...” he pointed to Marlin collapsed on the floor. Hastur couldn't close until the man woke up... however, there were certain advantages to an unconscious customer. He began exploring the depths of Marlin's pockets. “The loser pays, that's the golden rule, lad.”

Finally, Hastur pulled out a bulging wallet and a necklace with a locket.

“Hey! This one's loaded, boys! Pub repairs and booze for everyone, graceful courtesy of our new friend Marlin!”

The revelation pushed the collective frenzy to new horizons. Someone, old Malzel, hastily snatched the locket from Hastur's hand and instantly disappeared, probably headed for the nearest pawn shop. The others were enraptured by the idea of free drinks.

“Hooray for Merlin! I mean, Marlin... oh who cares!”

“This is a lucky night! Long live Hastur, long live the king!”

“And if we run out of money, we'll sell the clothes!”

“There's also the sword! And his fancy mask!”

Lenore shrugged and shuddered, remembering her own initiation into the mercenary world. She couldn't help but feel sorry for Marlin; she had to go through such initiation herself after all.

“I knew it would end like this.” She sighed, fondly remembering the incredible month-long headache and lack of money she experienced after her first drinking contest.

“I'm going home.” Lenore announced to no one in particular. As the girl staggered toward the door, Dingo opened it for her. Wallace and Lawrence were too busy guarding the unconscious newcomer to come and greet her.

“Hey, are you sure you're okay? Shall I drive you?” Lenore caught the deep concern in the man's voice and turned to soothe him.

“I can make it on my own. If I don't get killed by this, I'm definitely immortal.” And with a not-so-convincing smile Lenore staggered through the frigid night and rain in solitude.

“Hey, Lenore.”

Lenore promptly turned toward the pub and deftly grasped the two loaded handguns Dingo threw at her.

“It's just a loan. I want my girls back, obviously.”

The girl didn't reply. She smiled gently, strategically placed the guns in the capacious pockets of her coat and took her leave.


	6. The Mermaid & Sterlie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After her victory over the newcomer, Lenore heads home. However, an acquaintance of hers ambushes her yet again, but in an unexpected way.

Chapter 6: The Mermaid & Sterlie

As she staggered along the pier in the night rain Lenore belatedly realized that perhaps turning down Dingo's generous offer hadn't been one of her most brilliant ideas. The local weather hadn't been the best lately, but that night was definitely the worst. Lenore didn't drink often, if at all, but she was more than sure she was drunk even though it had never happened to her before. At first, she wondered why the road was swaying like the sea, but then she realized it was perfectly still and it was she who was swaying. The girl glued herself to a lamppost and stared out at the roaring sea, stretching as far as the eye could see into the darkness, illuminated in the distance by the occasional bolt of lightning.

Like a drunken sailor scarcely recovering from a bad night of drinking, Lenore decided to give up alcohol. At least until the next challenge, her reputation demanded it.

She'd never been extremely fond of booze, but Lenore had her fundamental concept of the badass mercenary in mind that she had to carry on at all costs. She'd even tried smoking Wallace's cigars once, but the profound disgust had been such that she'd run away with her tail between her legs. Even she had her reasonable limits.

As the girl reevaluated her image choices and fought the urge to vomit, she heard a voice.

_Are you familiar with the tale of the little mermaid?_

_A tragedy, in which the girl falls in love with the prince, only to vanish into sea foam..._

The urge to vomit was strong, but Lenore held on. Despite the pounding headache she remembered hearing that voice somewhere...

_The little mermaid saved a human, a prince, and fell madly in love with him..._

Lenore clutched at the pole. She was sure she knew that story, but try as she might, she couldn't remember where she'd heard it before.

_Mad with love, the little mermaid went to the sea witch and traded her beautiful voice for legs..._

A cooler-than-usual breeze hit the girl full force. By instinct Lenore assumed a fighting posture, yet there seemed to be no one else there. The dock was deserted.

She sensed danger, but was unable to identify the threat. Lenore bore the two firearms Dingo had supplied her. Her sword was ready for close combat, but ranged attacks were better for probing the unknown.

Visibility was terribly limited, and the wind aggressively pushed the dense storm clouds to cover the insignificant glimpse of the moon that hadn't yet been engulfed by the fierce storm, framing the scene in darkness.

 _That's because you didn't take Dingo's offer, stupid. Stupid!_ Lenore removed the safeties, scanning the area as much as she could to see where the attack would come.

She crossed her arms as the hangover gradually disappeared thanks to the adrenaline saturating her body.

_But, tragically, the prince mistook another woman for his savior..._

Lenore pricked up her ears.

_And the prince fell in love not with the poor little mermaid, but with the other woman..._

It was definitely not his imagination, where did that damn voice come from?

_The little mermaid's sisters, worried about her, brought forth a dagger..._

_If she used it to spill the prince's blood, she would become a mermaid again..._

Lenore stiffened. It wasn't just a voice. It was an evil presence, cold and inhuman. She didn't know how or why, but she was certain of it.

_But in love as she was, the little mermaid could not kill the dear prince..._

_Unable to conquer the heart of her beloved, the little mermaid dissolved like foam in the waves and ceased to exist..._

Suddenly, something moved aggressively in the deepening darkness.

Lenore began to make out vaguely humanoid figures on the edge of the dock.

“Don’t try me.” Lenore promptly fired, instantly releasing a hail of bullets at her potential attackers.

An inhuman scream resounded in response. Figures moved toward her, and Lenore could glimpse scythe-like weapons and swords flashing in the profound shadows. The hateful voice laughed hysterically.

_Kill her._

The creatures were definitely humanoid, and their shapes were vaguely reminiscent of knights. However, their “armor” seemed to be covered in... scales, shells, and other marine life.

Lenore gripped her guns tighter and discharged another volley. She knew she didn't have many shots, certainly not enough for every enemy, but at least she hoped to thin the ranks of her attackers. The girl aimed each shot carefully, as each shot had to carry out its part.

It was then one of her guns jammed. The bullets from the pistol in her right hand had stuck in the magazine, rendering the weapon useless. The other continued to bestow violence, but Lenore knew it wouldn't hold up.

 _Sorry Dingo_. Lenore hurled both guns in the direction of the sea knights and gripped her sword.

“So, guys, who wants to be cut in half?”

The weapon felt heavier than usual. Lenore wasn't sure whether to blame the old Runners or the alcohol in her body.

The girl made her way through the darkness, sparks illuminating the scene every time her blade collided with the exotic weapons and armor of her enemies. The creatures had either not anticipated or were unable to withstand her frontal assault despite their hardy appearance, and their clumsy assaults posed nowhere near a threat to the girl.

Two knights equipped with shields tried to catch her in a pincer attack, but the girl jumped upwards, causing the two to crash into each other. Lenore landed with all her weight on the helmets two knights, and a slimy wet sound combined with that of shattered shells filled her eardrums. The two headless bodies swayed for a moment like headless chickens before they scrambled to the ground.

“Hey little mermaid, I don't know what you want, but if you have a problem with me, leave the little fish aside and show yourself!”

A cold laugh resounded through the dock. Lenore, pervaded by an unexpected rage, held out her sword, scanning the pier for the source of the sound.

Suddenly an unexpected voice rang out. “Lenore!”

It wasn't the cold feminine voice of the eerie dirge, no, it was a different voice, one she knew all too well, and one that had been a constant presence in her life for the past few months.

A smile took shape on Lenore's face.

In front of her stood a man. He was cloaked in what was left of an all too familiar reddish coat, and his body was covered in blood. Shells, coral, and other marine elements held the grim spectacle before her together. Lenore knew the man damn well.

“Really? Even in death, Alexander?”

The thing that formerly was Alexander emitted a hellish sound that no human being would be able to reproduce.

Lenore's taut features softened into a smile of genuine compassion. She rarely conveyed emotion for the dead, but Alexander had been a constant in her life since she'd arrived in town, as had Dingo and Wallace. That parody of a human form was extremely sad, even for someone who had desperately tried to assassinate her repeatedly.

But Lenore knew that whatever faced her now most likely wasn't really Alexander. Not anymore.

She prepared her sword.

The dreadful thing raised its mighty arms and lunged at Lenore.

Lenore swirled her gleaming sword on the spot. Both of Alexander's arms fell to the ground, flailing like eels as he continued his charge past the girl. The hideous creature stared with some confusion at the amputated limbs on the ground before laying its hate-filled gaze on Lenore again and screaming in rage, revealing shark-like teeth. Alexander charged with alarming speed, inadvertently opening his mighty jaws wide, but Lenore decapitated him with ease with a single blow. The headless body stumbled forward and ultimately collapsed to the ground.

Moonlight momentarily illuminated the scene, and the other creatures vanished. Mysteriously, Alexander's battered body was all that remained of the confrontation.

As Lenore put her sword away an incredible pain bent her in two. Her head seemed to explode, her body seemed to burn. It practically felt like her chest was on the verge of collapsing in on itself. Even the most trivial thing, like blinking or breathing, brought an endless cascade of violent pain.

With considerable difficulty Lenore took a step forward, but her legs refused to support her body any further. Her knees struck the ground. Her heart was pounding furiously, and each palpitation threatened to burst her arteries. With each beat, the unbearable pain coursing through her body intensified. For a fleeting moment the girl felt a bizarre mixture of pain and... Overwhelming sadness.

And finally, she lost consciousness, falling to the ground in the rain, not too far from Alexander's decapitated corpse.

Ionia calmly approached the girl's body and lowered herself to better observe her. Her right hand, wrapped in her golden glove, explored Lenore's abundant hair.

“Well, well, well... Look what the tide brought in.”

Getting back up, the girl stared at Alexander's bleeding head in unutterable disgust for a moment and then raised her arm to the moonlit sky. “That's game over for you, little girl.”

As soon as Ionia lowered her hand to strike Lenore a hissing sound reached her attentive ears, and the teal-haired girl interrupted her swipe to dodge by jumping backwards.

Three large silvery daggers were stuck hard right in front of her. Another hiss followed, but this time Ionia was ready and seized the incoming dagger deftly, promptly stopping the blade a few inches from her face.

A satisfied smile swiftly formed on her face and it faded just as quickly when she realized a miniature explosive device was attached to the blade of the knife.

The violent explosion engulfed her completely, and her ruined body fell to the ground... Before getting back up as if nothing had happened. The lost limbs grew back, and the burnt flesh regenerated as the extensive wounds from which copious amounts of blue blood gushed closed on their own.

Ionia turned sharply toward Lenore, but the girl's unconscious body was gone.

“I see... a vagrant.”

She moved towards Alexander's head and snatched it off the ground before jumping into the ocean and disappearing into the waves.

_This precarious existence is nothing but a parody of death,_

_Eager to merely forget the painful past..._

_But even after shedding a thousand tears,_

_Yesterday's pain is a faithful companion._

_Life is deaf to my master's desperate cries,_

_Lost in foolish hope, he lies dying,_

_His soul torn asunder and his body forlorn..._

_Forced to seek short-lived relief in the sins of the past,_

_For his future is taken._

***

“Come on, will you hurry up and wake up already?”

Lenore stood up abruptly and looked around in confusion. No matter where the girl directed her gaze, there was only one thing waiting for her: the nothingness of darkness.

That voice was familiar, overly familiar.

“This way.”

The girl turned around again, and where before there was nothing but nothingness now a person had appeared. A girl with long raven hair and silver eyes, her perfect mirror image. Oddly enough, the only difference between the two seemed to be the absence of her beloved coat on her double.

Lenore gradually brought her hands to her face and tapped her cheeks. “Who are you?”

Her doppelganger sighed. “I'm you. Oh, well, at least I think so.”

The other Lenore brought one hand to her chin and began to walk around the other as if the whole thing was an ordinary event. Oddly enough, she seemed to be as puzzled as she was.

“What do you mean by I think?!”

“I wish I could tell you more but my memories, or rather, our memories, are... terribly confused and fragmented.” The girl stopped in front of her and clapped her hands in satisfaction. “I'm glad I got to talk to you, though! To tell the truth I've been trying for some time, but with little result.”

Lenore very simply let herself fall to the ground and girded her head with her hands. “I don't get it, am I dead or something? Is this a dream?”

“No, no, no!” The other hastily walked over and sat down next to her. “I'm absolutely sure we're not dead!” And having said she placed a hand on her shoulder, smiling reassuringly. “Now, to simplify things. You can call me Sterlie! As for the dream question… I dunno.”

Lenore stared at her with growing confusion as she continued wondering about the bizarre situation. The girl had never had any notable dreams, or if she had had any very simply Lenore didn't recall them at all. However, the situation became stranger and stranger as time went on, and Sterlie, whether she was her inner self or a terrible hangover personified, was not much help.

“Okay Sterlie, now what?”

Sterlie stood up and rested her hands on her hips, smiling as if the answer was far too obvious to state. “That's easy, now you wake up!”

A pungent smell similar to something left too long to bake hit the two before Lenore could retort, and both of them began to sniffle at the same time.

“Until next time! By then I'll try to make the place a little more cozy, okay?”

The awful smell of butter and oil hit her hard, and Lenore woke up suddenly.

A cold white light blinded her as she gradually regained her senses. She was lying on a simple bed, and her clothes were stacked neatly on a nightstand to her left. She had no idea where she was, though intuition suggested a hospital, but before Lenore could even begin to properly investigate her whereabouts, she heard a familiar voice.

“So, who's Edgar?” Lenore turned her head. Dingo was sitting next to her, holding a plate with fried eggs and bacon in one hand. Or at least Lenore guessed from the smell and appearance that it must be eggs and bacon. The yolks had exploded, and the egg whites had turned black, while the bacon was in nothing short of tragic condition. Ironically, the smell far outweighed the grotesque appearance.

She knew Dingo loved his rations, but the girl had no idea he was such a disaster in the kitchen. Lenore stared at the plate trying to hold back her laughter.

“Bah, ungrateful! I got quite a scare, you know? Not that I minded the potential promotion to best mercenary of the city...”

“Those are for you, I hope.” Laughed heartily the girl, pointing to her friend's culinary disaster. “Where are we?” Lenore was still reeling from her odd dream, but she hadn't lost her sense of humor. She was tired and disoriented, but she refused to let any compromising emotion show on her face as she sat up and brought a hand to her face. She seemed fine, as always.

“It's one of my safe houses,” Dingo replied, setting his plate down on a table not far away. “You should know, they're all the same. “

Lenore dismissed him with a wave of her hand, stood up wrapping herself in the sheet and took a few uncertain steps toward the window. She almost instinctively brought her hand to her chest and breathed a sigh of relief. The old silver locket he never parted with was still there.

She walked over to the window and moved the curtains aside. It was still dark outside, but at least it wasn't raining anymore from what he could see.

“You didn't peek in while I was unconscious, did you?”

“I just wanted to make sure you weren't hurt, sis.”

Lenore's hand tightened around the curtain as she turned to glare at Dingo.

“What did you call me?”

“Hey! You should be thanking me for helping you! Sis.”

“Well thank you very much, big brother!”

“Come on it was a joke. Anyway, while you were sleeping, you repeated that name several times, Edgar. Who is he?”

“I don't know and don't care,” replied Lenore, yawning.

The girl fumbled absentmindedly with the locket as she looked out the window. She couldn't remember where it came from, or who had given it to her, but it had been with her for as long as she could remember. It was apparently the sole thing from her past that mattered to her for some reason.

“But maybe it's a clue to finding out something-” Dingo tried to insist, but Lenore raised a hand to stop him before he could go any farther.

“I say it's my past, and I say I don't care. Don't be obsessed, come on!”

Dingo sighed angrily and jumped to his feet. “I'm not obsessed, okay? We could say that... I think hard, all right?”

“Well, think hard about YOUR past, Mr. Child Soldier.”

Lenore froze and bit her lip hard. Dingo merely looked elsewhere.

Unlike her, Dingo had no problem recalling his past, even if it didn't bring him pleasant memories. Sure, it had been a challenging life, but it hadn't been all that bad as long as La Faina was by his side. However as soon as his beloved mentor vanished into thin air Dingo found that the life of the child soldier was unforgiving.

“Sorry, really.” Hurried the girl, launching into an extraordinarily rare display of apology. “It was cruel.”

Dingo merely shrugged, instantly recovering. “Don't worry, like I said sometimes I think too hard. But yes, it was a bit cruel of you,” The tone of her friend's gentle voice reassured Lenore. “But deep down hey, we're kids underneath, and kids are cruel sometimes, right?”

“Back to the important stuff, how did I get here?”

The man merely shrugged. “That's indeed an extremely intriguing question.” Dingo gave up and walked over to the window. “I found you at the door, unconscious. No clue, nothing. I even checked the cameras, one minute you weren't there and then there you were.”

Lenore clearly remembered fighting against Alexander and other strange creatures shortly after winning the drinking contest with Marlin, and her encounter with Sterlie, but nothing else.

“I had a... peculiar experience.” she murmured thoughtfully.

“More zombies?!” blurted Dingo.

Lenore stared at him amused. “We're not even sure those things were zombies!”

This time it was Dingo who shushed her. “Those were zombies to me, I'm telling you! And it's lucky you got here somehow and not in a hospital. Hospitals are places to typically avoid in case of a zombie attack, and they are the first places to fall since-”

The girl let Dingo speak, devoting herself to her thoughts and ignoring his lengthy and detailed explanation of what to do and what not to do in case of a zombie apocalypse. Lenore wasn't afraid of human enemies, but the creatures from the ambush on Raspberry and the ones she'd faced moments before unnerved her for some reason unknown to her.

 _I was at the dock. I defeated those things, I defeated Alexander,_ Lenore recalled, _and then my body... suddenly froze? It wasn't normal... And then I met Sterlie..._

“Hospitals are a primary source of much-needed medical supplies even in the case of zombies, thus attracting survivors, despite the dangers they conceal. Hey, are you listening to me?”

“No, I'm not listening, but anyway, thanks. If it weren't for you, I'd have an epic cold.” Lenore remembered her clothes and promptly decided to change the subject. “Great, you even washed them.” She examined the clothing and noticed there wasn't a single drop of blood left. “You're a real lifesaver!”

As Dingo swelled with pride, Lenore extended a hand toward the clothes before stopping.

“Dingo?”

The man stared at her in puzzlement. “Yes?”

“I'd like getting dressed, can you step outside?”

With profound disappointment Dingo left the room, taking the plate with the blackened eggs and bacon with him.

Lenore carefully lifted her clothes from the nightstand and inevitably found a bitter surprise waiting for her: her sword, irretrievably broken. All that remained of the weapon was the hilt.

“Oh come on, not again!”

Soon after Lenore was back on the street and on her way home as the sun began to light up the city. Another interminable turbulent night had finally come to an end, and a new day was dawning.

The girl unsuccessfully tried probing her memories as she walked at a slow pace through the city streets, but all that came back to her while were Alexander, the story told to her by the mysterious voice, and her unusual encounter with her other self.

Lilium had never really been an all-too-quiet town, but its problems had never blossomed supernaturally.

Lenore was sure of that, the hideous creatures that had appeared that fateful night, the return to life, if you could call it that, of the Red Devil, and finally the mysterious voice at the docks. It was all connected of course... But what did she have to do with it?


End file.
